


Fixer Upper: Westeros

by msinformed13



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fluff, HGTV AU, Home Renovation, Lesbian Margaery Tyrell, Lesbian Sansa Stark, Margaery and Sandor brotp, Margaery is an awful flirt, Mentions of Abusive Relationship, Nothing explicit, They hook up, fixer upper, minor Margaery and Cersei, minor Sansa/Joffrey (until they break up), once - Freeform, sansaery, tyrion is so done with their shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-06 04:37:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13403613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msinformed13/pseuds/msinformed13
Summary: {"Margaery, no." Tyrion said, not even looking up from over the top of his laptop at the brunette seated beside him at the conference table."Margaery, yes." She shot back with a devious smirk. The Tyrell had been staring vacantly at the wall across from her for the last five minutes and with the little secretive smile on her face, it wasn't hard to guess what was going on in her head."Could you just keep it in your pants for one episode?" He sighed in exasperation.Clegane scoffed at the mere concept. Of the three of them, tall man was the only one hard at work, skimming listings for their newest clients, "What about the four bedroom on Central?""It doesn't have enough bathrooms." Margaery didn't even have to check her laptop to know the specifics of the property.}Modern AU Sansa/Margaery fic. Margaery, Sandor, and Tyrion have a hit reality show Fixer Upper where they flip houses, Margaery finds herself a Stark along the way





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N- This is a multichapter, Sansaery AU. Set in the universe of an HGTV reality show. I'm not quite sure how to explain it, but hopefully you'll enjoy.

"Margaery, no." Tyrion said, not even looking up from over the top of his laptop at the brunette seated beside him at the conference table.

"Margaery, yes." She shot back with a devious smirk. The Tyrell had been staring vacantly at the wall across from her for the last five minutes and with the little secretive smile on her face, it wasn't hard to guess what was going on in her head.

"Could you just keep it in your pants for one episode?" He sighed in exasperation.

Clegane scoffed at the mere concept. Of the three of them, tall man was the only one hard at work, skimming listings for their newest clients, "What about the four bedroom on Central?"

"It doesn't have enough bathrooms." Margaery didn't even have to check her laptop to know the specifics of the property. She reclined lazily in her chair, scanning an appraising glance about the conference room. It was a small space, just large enough to hold a table and six chairs, it had glass windows overlooking the rest of their modest office. Most of the work took place on location anyway so they hardly spent time in the building.

"We can always add bathrooms." Tyrion threw in.

"Not with that house." Margaery shook her head, "To add one on the top floor it would cut into the walk in closet off the master bedroom which Cersei wouldn't allow, and it's so old that running pipes for another on the second or basement would cost more than it's worth."

Tyrion looked to Clegane for confirmation, scowling when the man nodded that once again, Margaery was right. She always was. While Tyrion was the brains behind the whole operation, keeping the numbers in check, overseeing the houses they flipped, and dealing with the network execs and Sandor was the handyman, in charge of renovation crews and doing much of the work himself, Margaery was everything else. She was part realtor, part interior decorator, and most importantly, she was all charm, laying it on thick for the cameras, and always keeping the clients pleased. It was thanks to her that 'Fixer Upper: Westeros' was such a hit show- well her and the wonderful contrast between her bright smiles and Sandor's gruff personality.

She knew all the available listings in Westeros like the back of her hand.

"The old Victorian on Flea Bottom?" Clegane suggested.

"No, there's not nearly enough natural light, and Cersei wants open concept on the main floor." Margaery dismissed.

"Open concepts and natural light are just matters of knocking enough shit down." Sandor shrugged.

"Old Victorian." Margaery repeated back at him, "No way there's going to be enough structural support on the main to make that feasible."

Sandor quite nearly growled.

"Maybe you could look up some listings and contribute instead of scheming how to get into bed with the client?" Tyrion prodded.

Margaery cut him a glare, "I don't scheme."

"You're angling to sleep with a city councilman."

The Tyrell laughed short and dry, "First of all, I'm not angling, I'm planning meticulously and then I will execute. Second of all, I'm not after him, I'm going to sleep with his wife."

"Ranch house with the fountain in the yard on Downing Street?" Sandor cut in, doing a valiant attempt at staying on track.

"The backyard is too small and they've got dogs." Margaery frowned.

Tyrion dropped his head into his hands, "That's my sister."

"Well Robert would deserve it, he spent enough time looking down my shirt at the consultation." She defended.

"You could have done with doing up one more button on that shirt." Clegane muttered under his breath.

"What?" Margaery turned on him sharply, normally the tall man would stay out of it when Margaery and Tyrion would go in on these little spats. Now that he left his neutrality, Margaery zeroed in on him.

"You heard." he deflected, not the least bit cowed by Margaery's glare. He dropped his gaze back to the computer, "How about the one with the big corner yard on Kings Landing?"

"No, the fireplace prevents an open concept." Margaery frowned, then paused. Her eyes grew comically wide, "Wait! No, we take out the wall between the kitchen and formal dining room, leave the fireplace wall to make an entryway. Tear out most of the rear wall for natural light and access to a big deck we build for Robert." Margaery spoke quickly, reaching over to steal Sandor's laptop and scan over the blueprint, "Yea, that will work nicely."

It took nearly two more hours, but together they managed to put together a list of six potential homes to show to the Baratheons the following day.

The first three houses were shut down over what Margaery seethed were 'completely irrational reasons that could easily be fixed with a goddamn hammer and some paint' as she angrily pressed down on the accelerator. Tyrion shifted uneasily in the backseat, he still didn't know why they let Margaery drive when all three of them went places, the brunette always ranted about the clients and had a surprising streak of road rage which rendered most footage recorded on their dashboard camera unusable because of her swearing at other drivers. For what certainly wasn't the first (or tenth) time, Tyrion thanked the seven that they hadn't opted to get a car with the show logo on the side. He could only imagine the bad press they would get if someone ever realized it was the charming brunette from HGTV who tailgated them down highway nine.

"I'm sure they'll like one of the remaining houses." Tyrion tried to placate.

"They fucking better." Clegane grouched, when Margaery got on a roll, he usually joined, and it was left to Tyrion to try and turn the mood.

Luckily Margery was also aggressively professional, so the moment they were out of the car at the next listing she had a winning smile plastered across her face and was prattling on about curb appeal while Tyrion worked the lockbox.

...

"Told you the corner house was a winner." Sandor smirked from the passenger seat once the other five houses Margaery had selected were all shot down by Cersei.

"They just chose it because of the open concept I came up with for the first floor." She groused, aggressively changing lanes without the use of her blinker.

"Now now ladies, you're both pretty." Tyrion interjected.

Margaery flipped him off at the same time as Sandor groaned out 'bugger off' under his breath. Yes, everything was just as it should be.

…

Margaery parked crookedly on the drive and emerged from her Jeep with large sunglasses and two drink carrier trays from Starbucks. Tyrion clucked his tongue as he watched her walk up the drive, they were filming some set bits at the house before she would be cut loose to go out and start working her design magic. Sandor had disappeared somewhere in the house, already taking measurements and making notes in his perpetually present little black notebook.

"Thank you for gracing us with your presence." The Lannister teased as Margaery came up the drive.

"I'm five minutes early." She said, "And I brought coffee."

"Bless you." He accepted the cup graciously, taking a cautious sip and sighing when the strong taste swept across his tongue.

"Sandor?"

"Already playing." Tyrion gestured over his shoulder into the house.

Margaery disappeared in search of the tall man. Tyrion took a minute to soak in the relaxing morning before the project would begin in earnest.

Joining the rest of the crew inside, Tyrion found Margaery sitting on the kitchen counter, swinging her legs and sipping a large coffee. She appeared to be teasing a blushing Podrick while Sandor was tapping the wall, probably trying to determine the location of studs.

"Margaery, leave the poor boy alone." He chastised, he couldn't have her distracting the camera crew, or they would never get anything done.

"I'm not bothering him! Am I Pod?" She asked, putting on her best doe eyes.

"N-n-no. Course not." Podrick stammered out, his blush rising to the tips of his ears.

Tyrion rolled his eyes, "Sandor, put on your show face. I want these bits filmed in the next hour and then Marge, you're going to meet with a man about flooring, yes?"

"Yeah, that Bolton creep." The brunette confirmed, hopping off the counter and smoothing her hair back.

…

"I swear to the Stranger, if she vetoes one more of the wood samples I show her, I'm not even going to try and sleep with her anymore." Margaery fumed, dropping dramatically onto a low ladder in the demolished kitchen of the house.

Sandor was working on tearing up the old flooring while Tyrion idly sifted through contracting offers.

"They're all too light, or too knotted, or not knotted enough, or looks like something rotted." She continued, "I don't know how in the hell you grew up with the woman."

"Lots of arguing."

Clegane tossed some loosened floorboards over his shoulder in the general direction of his trash heap. A few splinters shot off and clipped Margaery's shoes, "Watch it over there." She called.

"You do realize this is a construction site, not a fuckin coffee shop." He grouched.

"If you swear, I can't use the footage." Podrick reminded them for what felt like the hundredth time from behind his shoulder camera.

"Just take out the sound and add it to a montage." Tyrion suggested.

The cameraman shook his head, "The entire show can't be an hour long montage."

…

"We need to rewire the entire top floor."

"Define need." Tyrion rubbed his temples.

Sandor's face was grim, "It's so far out of code, it's a wonder the whole house hasn't caught fire yet."

"Fuck." The short man cracked open his ledger book, "How much are we talking?"

"Enough that Marge is going to have to think twice about the marble tile she wants to put all over the master bath."

"You're breaking that news to her."

"Like hell I am." Clegane laughed, "And get an earful about how she designed the sink vanity around the tile, tying in the chrome accessories and some other flowery bullshit. No fucking way."

…

The phone call to break the news of the tile to Margaery went as well as could be expected. It was full of swearing and blaming Sandor and a lecture on the importance of building a room around a feature like tile and how she would have to completely redesign the bathroom. It ended with her saying how it would be a 'fucking miracle if I can get Cersei to agree to a different tile'.

…

"Is the master bathroom safe to walk through?" Margaery asked on a conference call one evening halfway through the project.

"Safe enough, it's bare backerboard on the floor, so your shoes will get dusty as hell but you should be fine." Sandor commented through grunts. He was still at the house, working late into the night on reframing some windows and talking through a bluetooth headset.

"Good, and when do you think you'll be out of there?"

"Bout an hour."

"Great."

"Margaery, what are you doing?" Tyrion asked.

"Just wanted to look at some tile samples since I can't have my marble." The Tyrell sounded far too innocent, and Tyrion knew enough to be suspicious.

"Sure."

…

The next morning, Margaery's smile was far too wide, and the extra pep in her step when she walked through the house to direct the men delivering cabinets was a dead giveaway. She had gotten laid the night before.

"Tell me you didn't." Tyrion frowned.

"Cersei and I came to an agreement on the tile."

Sandor laughed loudly, "Screwed her into submission did you?"

Tyrion's sigh of, "My sister." was lost to Margaery's much louder chuckle, "I just made her an offer she couldn't refuse." The wink at the end of her statement left her and Clegane laughing while Tyrion just did his very best to banish the image of Margaery convincing his sister of anything.

…

Two weeks later found them at the end of yet another Fixer Upper. As was their tradition, Sandor, Margaery, and Tyrion celebrated finishing the project with a six pack in the completed home.

They lounged on the kitchen floor, leant against appliances and the newly built island. Podrick had been invited to join them for the first time, he had been with them from the beginning of the show, and felt like their collective little brother.

"God this granite looks great with the backsplash." Margaery congratulated herself, wraping her pretty pink lips delicately around the top of her bottle.

"I don't really like the dark countertops." Sandor appraised it critically.

"You have butcher block counters in your house." Margaery said it as though that proved everything.

"I like butcher block counters." Pod blushed into his drink.

…

Margaery was in a dress with the neckline somewhat lower than was absolutely necessary, and even Sandor was in a nice button up for the final filmed walk through.

"And here, you can see we took out most of this back wall and replaced it with glass so you have a great view and all this beautiful natural light." The Tyrell was in full realtor mode, selling the couple on their new home.

"It's just stunning." Robert commented, his eyes on Margaery's cleavage rather than the back wall.

The brunette giggled girlishly, playing her part well, and all the while making eye contact with a glaring Cersei.

When they finished the walk through, and the cameras went off, Cersei pulled Margaery aside for a private thank you, "I just wanted to talk with you about the master bath again. I'm not in love with the brushed chrome finish on the taps and want your opinion should we ever decide to swap them out." The blonde explained, her eyes were far too serious ot just be thinking about bathroom fixtures as she took Margaery's hand and practically dragged the younger girl upstairs, leaving the men to chat.

"You've done a great job here." Robert offered, his usual jovial smile in place, cheeks ruddy from the exertion of walking the whole home.

"Well the house had good bones." Sandor replied.

They made awkward stilted conversation for about fifteen minutes until Margaery reappeared- alone now- at the top of the stairs. She wasn't ruffled in the slightest, and had her best television smile plastered across her face as she bid a final farewell to Robert, allowing him to pull her into a tight hug and kiss her lingeringly on the cheeks.

"What did Cersei want?" Tyrion asked, once they were all piled back in the SUV.

"She was just giving me a personal thank you." A crooked smile gave her away, "Her oldest son and his fiance are looking to get a home and she wants them on the show."

"That's all?" Sandor clearly didn't believe her.

"That's all." She echoed. Margaery's head whipped around to shout at a passing car as she changed lanes quickly, and her long hair flew off her shoulder revealing a bright red mark on her neck.

"Is that lipstick?" The tall man already knew the answer, but wouldn't pass up the opportunity to bring Margaery's deviant behavior to light.

She brought up a hand and rubbed at the mark, her fingers came away clean and her smirk grew, "No, not lipstick. Must be a hickey."

"Gods." Tyrion muttered.

…

They met with Joffrey and his fiance early the next week, and it was one of the most grating consultations they had ever done. They were used to couples disagreeing on things with their dream homes and having to work out compromises to accommodate differing tastes, but they had never had anything quite like Joffrey and Sansa.

Margaery started them off with the style of house, Sansa loved historic- an old Victorian or colonial home while Joffrey wanted more modern- midcentury, ranch style. Once Joffrey contradicted Sansa's opinion, she caved.

"Are you sure, I'm sure we can find a house that would suit both of your preferences." Margaery frowned at how easily Sansa folded to Joffrey's will.

"No, that's fine. I'm not very attached to the style." Sansa quickly deflected, sneaking small sidelong glances at her fiance.

"Okay." Margaery made a small note on her legal pad, "What about floor plan?"

"I'd love an open concept, especially from the kitchen to the living space. I spend a lot of time cooking so it would be nice not to be closed off like it is in our current place." Sansa's eyes lit up as she talked about her dream home.

"I don't like open concepts." Joffrey cut in, "The one in mother's new place is awful." Margaery's smile became even more forced as he talked about the floor plan she had designed, "It's just so much wasted space."

"I suppose you're right." Sansa dimmed, her eyes were downcast into her lap. Her hands idly twisting her engagement ring around her finger.

Tyrion and Sandor shared a look.

The rest of the consultation continued in much the same manner, and when they bid the couple goodbye, Margaery's notes were an angry scribble. The brunette's eyes were nothing short of scary when they were finally alone in the conference room.

"That man is an ass."

"Not my best nephew." Tyrion conceded.

"He's awful and doesn't deserve her."

At that, Tyrion's brows rose, "Margaery, no!"

"Margaery, yes!" She shot back, "This is different! This isn't just some one night stand for fun. Sansa deserves better than that pathetic excuse of a man, you saw how she made herself smaller for him. It's such bullshit." Margaery paused for a moment, eyes dropping to her notes, "And he has awful taste!"

"She has a point." Sandor reluctantly agreed, "You know that's not what a healthy relationship looks like."

The Lannister sighed, "You can't honestly tell me you're planning to break up a couple we're renovating a house for." Margaery's lips tucked up in the corner, "You're killing me."

"I have to!" The brunette cried in defense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N- More to come soon. I couldn't resist a little Margaery/Cersei action, they would be an awful couple, but I can't help but think they still have some chemistry. From here on out it's going to be Margaery and Sansa finally getting together.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sandor and Margaery's broship is one of my favorite things.

Margaery did not hesitate. She set her plans in motion immediately three days later when they took the couple out to see some listings. The first one was a beautiful Victorian with an open concept and a large backyard that Margaery knew full well would be too expensive when they added in the reno budget. But she couldn’t help herself. 

It was everything that Sansa had said she wanted before she gave way to Joffrey’s preferences in their initial meeting. The redhead’s eyes were wide in excitement from the moment she stepped out of the car with Joffrey trailing behind unimpressed. 

“It’s wonderful.” Sansa breathed, coming to stand at Margaery’s elbow.

The older woman mirrored her wide grin, “I thought you would love it. Here, I’ll show you through while the boys talk shop.” She easily threaded her arm through Sansa’s and gently led her into the property. 

“How much?” Joffrey asked. 

“Out of your budget.” Tyrion replied dryly. 

“So why are we wasting our time here?” 

“For inspiration.” The boy pulled a face but followed the other two up the drive towards the house. 

“- the tile and cabinetry are rather outdated, but that’s all easily fixed.” Margaery was saying to Sansa, arms still connected. The Tyrell had a gentle smile that was so different from her usual flirtatious smirk. It was clear to Tyrion that she was in deep already. 

“It’s a lovely space, and I love the coffered ceiling.” Sansa gushed. 

“I don’t like it.” Joffrey’s frown was visible from the entryway. 

“It’s just one room.” Margaery couldn’t help but snap. 

“It’s ugly.” The boy childishly countered. 

Tyrion’s warning glare was the only thing that kept Margaery from giving a harsh reply.

… 

The rest of the homes they showed were much more reasonably within the budget, and despite most of them being modern, Margaery had managed to find houses that retained some historic elements for Sansa. 

It was a long day, looking at listings always was, and by the time they made it to the fifth house, tensions were running somewhat high. Sansa and Joffrey must have been arguing about something in their car because when they pulled up, Sansa hardly waited for the car to come to a complete stop before she was out and walking quickly over to Margaery, her lips set in a thin line. 

It had become something of routine, Margaery would take Sansa ahead into the house, talking up all the great features, and Tyrion and Sandor would follow with Joffrey and try to reconcile his complaints. 

Now Sansa was the one to take Margaery’s elbow, “Alright?” The brunette asked. 

“Yes.” The lie wasn’t quite seamless, but Margaery didn’t press for the time being. 

Rather she began leading the way up the path, “I think you’re really going to like this one. It’s go a skylight in the master bath that lets in a ton of natural light.” 

The house was nearly a winner. Nearly, up until Sansa saw the backyard, “It’s rather small.” 

“I know.” Margaery frowned, “But picture it zero-scaped, nice rock with some tastefully placed plants and a large deck with a grill and plenty of seating. It will be great for entertaining.” 

“But not for a dog.” 

Joffrey scoffed from where he and the men had caught up to them, “I thought we agreed you were getting rid of that beast.” 

Sansa’s eyes flashed and for the first time, they saw her stand up to her fiancé, “Lady has been at Arya’s since our apartment complex doesn’t allow pets, but I thought she was going to come home with us once we moved out.”

“The dog hates me, there’s no way she’s coming.” 

“Good judge of character.” Sandor muttered under his breath.

Sansa changed gears, “What about when we have kids, we’ll need a proper yard for them.” 

Joffrey laughed, and it was a cruel sound that raised the hair on the back of Margaery’s neck, “We’re not having kids, we’ve had this conversation before.” 

“You’ve had this conversation before.” Sansa accused, “You never listen and you always said we would return to it.” 

“Well now we are, no kids.” 

Margaery, Tyrion, and Sandor were struck silent at the argument, sharing loaded glances. Podrick had the good sense to point his camera at the ground through the exchange, this fight would not make it into the final cut of the episode. 

Sansa’s jaw worked back and forth, and she turned on her heel suddenly and left. She walked quickly from the room, heading in the direction of one of the front bedrooms. Joffrey laughed, evidently amused by his fiance’s reaction. Tyrion moved to follow the girl. He had known her for a few years, seeing her at family gatherings that Joff brought her too, and now he felt more familial protective instinct towards her than he ever did for his nephew. But Margaery paused him with a hand on the shoulder, “I’ve got it.” 

She found Sansa with her back to the doorway, her head was in her hands, and her shoulders were shaking just barely. Margaery approached slowly, as she would a wild animal, “Oh sweetling.” She said gently. 

Sansa’s head rose guiltily, tears streaked down her cheeks. Margaery was surprised when the taller woman stepped into her space, tucking her face into Margaery’s neck, and resting her arms about the brunette’s shoulders. 

Margaery got over her shock quickly enough, gathering Sansa in her arms, “Shhh, you’re alright.” She whispered into the redhead’s ear, “I’ve got you.” 

Sansa only allowed herself to break for a few moments before she seemed to flip a switch. She drew back far enough to dry her tears and set her jaw in firm determination, “Gods I’m sorry, this is embarrassing.” 

“You don’t need to apologize.” Margaery dismissed, keeping her arms around Sansa’s waist. 

“Yes, I shouldn’t be crying over something silly like this.”

“It’s not silly.” She ran a hand through Sansa’s hair, straightening the strands that had gone awry while she cried, “It’s a big thing about your future, and Joffrey doesn’t much seem to care about your opinion on it.” 

“Oh no, Joff is just very particular.” Sansa immediately jumped to his defense, “He’s really quite kind, he just comes off a bit harsh.” 

Margaery didn’t believe that for a moment.

“We should go back.” Sansa said, even as her face pinched at the thought. 

“We can take as much time as you like.” Margaery fussed more over the taller woman’s hair. It was so soft and long, and Sansa let her eyes fall shut and her head tip into the gentle caress. 

They stayed locked in that embrace for a while longer until Tyrion knocked gently on the door frame, “We’ve got one more listing today, and we’ve got to get there before five for the realtor to let us in.” He said, squirming under the glare Margaery shot him for being interrupted. 

“We can see it tomorrow, it’s been a long day.” The Tyrell said, not stepping away from the younger woman she was cradling protectively in her arms. 

“It’s okay.” Sansa put on a brave face, “I’m fine, let’s go.” 

“Are you sure?” Margaery’s voice was soft and her eyes were full of concern that made Tyrion feel like he was invading an intimate moment, “I’m sure.” 

Sansa didn’t say a word to Joffrey, though she turned down Margaery’s offer to drive her to the next listing. 

… 

When it came down to it, Joffrey and Sansa settled on that final house they saw. It was a mid-century modern home, long and one story, the backyard was modest but large enough to accomodate a dog and a family one day. The large compromise was the open floor plan that Margaery pushed for, insisting that the current blocked off rooms on the main floor wasted space, eventually Joffrey came around. 

The real selling point was a large unfinished basement that Sandor could turn into a den for Joffrey. 

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to design this lair.” Margaery groused from where she was laying dramatically across the ground in the conference room. 

“It’s a den, not a lair.” Tyrion corrected smoothly. 

“It’s stupid.” 

“Just get some leather couches, dark wood paneling on the walls, soft recessed lighting, and build in a wet bar.” Sandor laid out. 

Margaery’s face scrunched, “Wood paneling is so seventies.”

“Don't forget a wall of gun safes.” Tyrion added. 

“Lair.”

… 

Margaery continued to lay it on thick. She took Sansa out for lunch to go over options for tile on the back splash, they went on a drive to a previous house that Sandor and Margaery had done to get an idea of how a particular type of fireplace looked in a stone feature wall, she even too Sansa on a field trip to a rock quarry to pick out flagstones for the back garden pathway. 

Each time she would make gentle needling comments. Small things about how Joffrey wasn't taking a very big interest in the project, how lonely Sansa seemed. And each time, she got a little bit closer. 

Each time she fell just a little bit deeper. Until she was completely enchanted by the intelligent caring young woman engaged to an absolute garbage can of a man. 

It was finally when they went to a local plant nursery- owned by the Tyrell family- to pick out some landscaping elements, that Margaery saw a real payoff. They were strolling down rows of rose bushes when Margaery got another opening, “Were you thinking just flowers in the back, or did you want to do a small vegetable patch as well?”

Sansa trailed her fingertips along some petals, “Just flowers I think, I'm dead horrible at gardening but I love having things growing around.”

“And Joffrey isn't much of a gardener?”

Sansa chuckled at the thought, “No, Joff’s not really got a good touch with living things.”

The double meaning didn't escape Margaery, nor the sadness behind Sansa’s eyes. 

“Just flowers it is then.” The older woman said decisively. She reached out and tangled the fingers of one hand with Sansa’s, guiding her down the rows, “Rose bushes would look lovely along the deck.” She suggested. 

“I adore these ones.” Sansa gestured at a clump of bushes. The flowers grew thick, big heads with yellow petals tipped with red.

“The queen of thorns.” Margaery supplied the name, “My grandmother actually created that particular hybrid.”

“They’re lovely.” 

Margaery took a brave step closer, looking down at their still joined hands before back up at Sansa from beneath her lashes, “As are you.”

The redhead blushed, but didn't back down, “You're too kind.”

“No, I'm just stating the facts.” Margaery continued, inching just a bit closer into Sansa’s space. She could smell the subtle perfume on the taller girl, vanilla and something warm and comforting, “You are by far the loveliest thing I've ever seen, and you deserve to have the loveliest flowers in your garden. You deserve to have a lovely life in the house of your dreams. You deserve the world, Sansa. But mostly you deserve so much more than Joffrey Baratheon.”

Sansa’s eyes widened at the statement, she opened her mouth to object but the sincerity in Margaery’s eyes stopped her. Margaery’s free hand pushed some hair behind Sansa’s ear, letting her fingers linger on the taller woman's jaw. Here, in the green house surrounded by flowers, it was easy for everything else to melt away, it was easy to pretend they were the only people in the world. 

That's how it felt when Sansa bent her head down so her lips met Margaery’s, like they were the only people in the world and like nothing could go wrong. 

When they pulled apart, the Tyrell wore the softest of smiles while Sansa just looked guilty, “I can't.” Margaery’s smile fell, “I’m engaged, and Joff and we bought a house, oh gods. We bought a house and there’s no backing out now.” Panic dawned across Sansa’s face and her breath came in quick gasps. 

“Sansa, sweetling, look at me.” Margaery commanded, both hands going to cradle Sansa’s face and force her attention, “Everything's going to be fine, I promise.”

It took a few exaggerated breaths, but soon Sansa’s breathing evened out, and her lips drew up in a sad grin, “You can't possibly promise that.”

… 

Margaery wasn't deterred. 

She didn’t back off. The very next day she called Sansa to meet and talk about flooring. At first they both astutely pretended that the kiss hadn’t happened. They made small talk about the weather and how the house was coming along, Margaery laid out floor samples along with the paint chips they had selected for the kitchen cabinets and a small sample of the countertop so they could match. They settled pretty easily on a nice light wood, and lapsed into silence. 

For a while Margaery let the quiet wash over them, relaxing in the calm atmosphere of the local coffee shop they had met in. Finally Sansa broke, “I’m sorry about yesterday, I shouldn’t have kissed you.” 

“You don’t need to apologize for that.” Margaery said quickly, reaching across the table to grasp Sansa’s hands, reassured by the way Sansa thread their fingers together solidly, “That was just as much my choice as it was yours, and I don’t regret it.” 

Sansa sighed, her lips betraying her with a little grin, “I wish things could be different, but I’m marrying Joff.” 

She reached up to brush some hair behind her ear, and her sleeve slid up a bit, drawing Margaery’s attention, “What’s that?” 

“What?” Sansa’s brows knit in confusion. 

“On your wrist.” She caught Sansa’s hand a pushed up the sleeve, the redhead didn’t even try and draw her hand away as Margaery gasped at what she found.    
“It’s nothing, we just had a small fight last night. He didn’t mean to.” Sansa covered immediately. 

Margaery’s eyes softened and she carefully traced over the angry purple bruises on the taller girl’s wrist, “This isn’t nothing, Sansa.” 

“Yes it is.” She said, almost pleadingly, “It’s just a couple of bruises, please Margaery. Forget about it.” 

“He’s abusing you. I can’t just forget this.” 

Tears welled in the redhead’s eyes, but she didn’t let them fall, “Please.” 

Rather than answer, Margaery bent her head and pressed butterfly light kisses to each fingertip bruise. She pulled Sansa’s sleeve back into place, “Are you safe in the apartment?”

“Yes.” Sansa’s voice was weak but it did not tremble. 

“This can't go on.” the redhead tried to open her mouth to protest, but Margaery shook her head to silence her. She gathered up her bag and looked pleasingly at the younger girl, “Stay safe, sweetling. Just for a while longer.” She cupped Sansa’s jaw once more, leaning across the table to press a kiss to her forehead. 

With that, she left the coffee shop, walking as calmly as she could out to her car and driving at a reasonably responsible speed to the house where she knew she would find Sandor and his crew hard at work. 

When she arrived, she parked haphazardly behind a dumpster they’d had brought in and walked carefully and deliberately up the drive. 

She greeted the crew she recognized from past projects with a tight smile and made her way through the house until she found Sandor. Her heels clicked resonantly in the rubble. 

She found the tall man on a ladder in the first floor powder room, fiddling around with some wiring, “Is there anything you’ve got left to demolish?” 

Sandor thought a moment, his large hands working deftly at the delicate wires, “We need to tear out the old drywall to expand the kitchen pantry on the right hand side.” 

“Thanks.” Margaery grabbed a hammer straight out of his toolbelt and marched off in the direction of the kitchen. 

Sandor thought nothing of it until the sounds of banging overshadowed even the noise of the busy construction site. He let it slide until swearing joined in with the banging. 

He climbed down from the ladder and stalked through the construction site. All around him, men had paused in their work and were looking toward the kitchen in concern, “Get on with it! We’re not paying you to stand around!” He growled. 

He found Margaery in all her high heeled, pencil skirt, bouncing curls glory, wielding the stolen hammer like Jack Nicholson with an axe in ‘The Shining’. All the while swearing loudly. 

“Fucking no good, prick. Piece of shit, entitled asshole.” She brought the hammer back and swung as hard as she could, the tool landing satisfyingly in the wall and burrying in the drywall. Margaery yanked the hammer out, pulling off a large hunk of the wall and getting dust all over her outfit. She had a small chunk of drywall in her hair. 

She paused when she noticed Sandor watching her with amusement dancing in his eyes. 

“That’s the left side of the pantry.” 

Margaery took a step back, tilted her head slightly to the side in consideration, “And you can’t expand it left instead of right?”

“No.” He pointed with a large hand at some wiring she had nearly torn out in her wall demolishing fury, “That’s the electrical for the stove.” 

“Oh.” Margaery bit her lip. 

Sandor sighed, leaning against the doorframe, “Want to tell me what’s got you so worked up you’re smashing holes in my walls?” 

“I can’t.” 

“Why?” 

“It’s private.” 

“Since when do you have anything private?” Margaery cut him a glare, “I’ve seen your tits on multiple occasions.” He scoffed. 

Margaery’s lips twisted, conceding that one to the man, “It’s someone else’s secret.” 

“Sansa’s.” He made the connection immediately, “Tell me, we all care about the girl.” 

Margaery never was one for keeping things bottled up, and despite his gruff exterior, Margaery trusted Sandor tremendously, “Joffrey’s abusing her and she doesn’t want to leave him.” 

Sandor was silent for a moment, his throat moving as he swallowed harshly. Then a grim determination settled over his features, “I’m going to kill the little bastard.” 

“I’ll help.” Margaery confirmed, the hammer dangling from her hand did little to make the threat seem softer.

The two of them showed up in Tyrion’s office that night with a case of beer, and a plan. Or rather the idea of a plan, and the hope that the Lannister would straighten the rest out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading and leaving comments, let me know what you thought. I hope this isn't moving too quickly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comments left on this work give me life! Hope you enjoy this chapter and don't feel that it was too far fetched, I just wanted to think of a way to get Joffrey out of the picture quick.

It took three beers apiece (five for Tyrion), lots of swearing (mainly from Margaery and Sandor), and a few poorly thought out plans to get Joffrey somehow exiled from the country before they had a real plan.

… 

Step one was to gather the troops, this part Margaery was in charge of. 

There was certainly no shortage of Starks, but they were flung far and wide. The nearest sibling Margaery could track down was a sister who lived right in downtown Westeros, and she was who they called. She met Margaery, Sandor, and Tyrion in a coffee shop, and even Sandor had to admit that the girl was intimidating. All short dark hair, and a strong harsh jaw, she did not resemble her older sister in the slightest save for the fierce determination in her eyes. 

“What’s going on with my sister?” Arya asked the moment she sat down, not wasting time with an introduction. 

“Nice to meet you, I’m Margaery Tyrell, these two are Sandor Clegane and Tyrion Lannister.” She pointed out each man in turn, “You may recognize us from Fixer Upper.” 

“I don’t.” Arya said bluntly, “What’s up with Sansa?” 

“Well you see, the thing with your sister is-” Margaery began, but Sandor cut her off. 

“Her asshole fiance is abusing her, and we’re trying to get her to leave him for good.” 

Arya took the news with a clenched jaw and hardened eyes, “What’s the plan?” 

… 

Step two ran at the same time as step three, and it was the truly dramatic part of the plan. If she hadn’t been part of devising the whole scheme, Margaery would hardly believe that what they were doing was real life and not the plot of some dramatic soap opera. 

As it was, she called Sansa to meet her at the house, Arya was with her, and together they were hosting something of an intervention. 

From the moment, Sansa walked in the door, she knew something was wrong, “What are you doing here, Arya? Is Jon okay?” 

“Yeah, he’s fine. On tour in Russia now I think with the Night’s Watch. This is about you.” 

Sansa’s gaze shifted to Margaery, she looked trapped like she wanted to run, “Margaery, you didn’t-”    
“I had to.” 

“Please.” She whispered, “Please forget all of this. I’m fine, I promise.” 

Arya stepped in, brash in a younger sister way, “You’re not. Joffrey is an abusive piece of shit, and you need to leave him. Now.” 

“He doesn’t mean to, it’s always just little accidents.” 

Arya was far less even tempered than her sister, “And one day one of those accidents might just get you seriously hurt! You should have listened to Robb and Jon when they told you he was bad news the first time you brought him home.” 

“You know how overprotective they are, they don’t like any boys you’ve ever brought home!” 

“For good reason!” Arya was yelling at this point, and Margaery was debating stepping in to diffuse the tension, “They like Gendry though, because he’s a good guy. Which is a hell of a lot more than can be said for Joffrey!” 

Sansa looked like she was about to yell back, but her face fell, she crumpled in on herself, and wrapped her arms about her waist in an attempt to hold herself together. Margaery did cut in then, enveloping Sansa in her arms, “Hush sweetling. It’s alright.” 

“It’s not.” Sansa gasped against Margaery’s shoulder, “I know Joffrey’s bad, but we’re engaged and we bought this house together and I don’t have anywhere to go. I haven’t been on my own in four years, and back then I was still in college. I just can’t-” She trailed off, nuzzling in closer to the brunette’s neck. 

Margaery let her, scraping fingernails along her scalp, “Shh, you can leave him if you want.” 

“But how-” 

“You give the word and we go back to your apartment and pack up your things and you move in with me.” Arya laid out easily, “I have a spare bedroom I’ve been using as an office. It will just be until you get back on your feet and can find your own place.” 

“But the house-”    
“Was paid for completely by Robert as an early wedding gift. You won’t be out a cent.” Margaery reassured her. 

“Joffrey will never let me leave.” Sansa confessed her biggest fear, face still hidden against the soft skin of Margaery’s neck.

“Yes he will.” The Tyrell said, “Right now he’s with Tyrion and Sandor, their looking at furniture for his den, and once I text them, they’ll keep him out of the way so he won’t be at the apartment when you go to get your things.” 

“He’ll still come after me.” Sansa despaired, finally drawing back and trying to wipe at her eyes. 

“That’s the other thing.” Margaery had a sneaky sort of smile on her face that drew her lips crooked, “Tyrion has some dirt on the family company. Apparently Tywin has been forging deals for years under Joffrey’s name, wiring the money into some offshore accounts and evading taxes. I honestly don’t fully understand it, but Tyrion swears it’s enough to give Joffrey motive to never contact you again if Tyrion threatens him with it.” 

Sansa’s jaw dropped in disbelief, “I don’t understand.” 

“You just have to say the word, and you’re free.” Margaery smiled. She rubbed the redhead’s shoulder, “All you have to do is ask.” 

Sansa’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times before tears sprang anew. She threw her arms around Margaery again, this time roping Arya into the hug as well, “I take it that’s a yes?” Arya asked. 

Her sister laughed, watery and trembling, “Yes. Gods, thank you.” 

… 

Margaery went with Arya and Sansa to pack the redhead’s things and help them settle Sansa at her sister’s place. It was a nice apartment in the heart of downtown, a little on the small side and a bit under furnished, but nice all things considered. Margaery couldn't help thinking through ways she would change the space- unable to stop the internal monologue of home renovation. 

The moment they opened the door, the women were greeted by two massive dogs. Margaery let out a small yelp and ducked behind Sansa for protection. The taller girl merely laughed, deep and full, and the happiest Margaery had seen her in days. Sansa wrapped her arms around the large beast who had leapt on her, the dog was as tall as the Stark with her front paws on Sansa’s shoulders.

The dog let out a low pitched whining noise and scrabbled to get even closer, climbing up Sansa’s body until she was sitting happily in Sansa’s arms, nosing insistently at her hair. Sansa laughed at the dog’s antics, “I missed you too, Lady. Have you been good for Arya?”

“She’s been an absolute terror.” Arya sighed, pushing the larger of the two dogs off and back into the apartment, “She doesn't go for walks, she goes for sprints. I know you always used to take her running in the mornings in college, but she is the most energetic dog I've ever seen. More so even than Shaggy.”

“Arya, are you letting my dog get fat?” Sansa hefted Lady in her arms. They made a comical picture, the massive dog overflowing Sansa’s arms seemingly unaware that the behavior was absurd given her size. 

Arya just shook her head in reply, taking her first boxes of Sansa’s things through to the redhead’s bedroom. Sansa finally set her dog back down on the ground and turned to see Margaery still hidden behind her, “Not a dog person?”

“Oh I'm a dog person, but that’s not a dog, that's a wolf or maybe a small bear.” Margaery flapped her hand at Lady who was sitting, observing the brunette with interest. 

“Her name is Lady.” Sansa introduced, “And she has very good manners.” 

Margaery shot her a disbelieving look before cautiously approaching the large canine. Lady took immediate interest, padding right up to Margaery and nosing at the hand Margaery offered her. The dog seemingly gave her approval and licked at Margaery’s hand.

The brunette smiled, “Alright, she's a sweet one.”

“Hey! More boxes less standing.” Arya hollered from the kitchen area, “This is moving day not  a doggy play date.”

… 

Step four was greatly contested, and still unsanctioned by Tyrion at the time that Margaery and Sandor put it into action. They met at Margaery’s apartment in the middle of the night, when Sandor knocked, he was greeted with the brunette dressed head to toe in black, her curls hidden even beneath a slouchy black beanie. 

“You look like a cat burglar.” 

“And you look like a contractor.” She frowned at the man’s typical plaid shirt half tucked into faded light wash jeans and a pair of heavy boots, “Sandor! Why didn’t dress up for this?” 

He sighed, “Are you ready to go?” 

“Yeah.” Margaery stepped into the hallway and pulled her apartment door shut behind her, “You’ve got the supplies?” 

“In my truck, let’s go Jack MacLean.” 

“Who the hell is that?” 

“One of the most infamous cat burglars in American history. He stole over a hundred and thirty million in jewels in two decades.” 

“Why do you know that?” Margaery asked, stepping up onto the foot rail and pulling herself into the raised cab of Sandor’s massive truck. 

“It’s household knowledge!”    
“Not a regular household.” She reached out to change the radio station and her hand was slapped away sharply. 

“Don’t touch the radio.” 

“Nobody listens to country music, Sandor.” 

“I do. Don’t touch my radio, don’t mess with the heat, keep your feet off of things.” 

“I know the truck rules. This thing is your baby.” 

Sandor rolled his eyes, but refrained from commenting as he pulled away from the curb. They drove for twenty minutes before pulling to a stop on the side of the road in a nice neighborhood, “Which house is it?” Margaery asked. 

“It’s around the corner, then the third house.” 

“You’re sure?” Sandor gave her a look and Margaery nodded, “Right, let’s do this.” 

They hopped out of the truck and Sandor got a large black bag from the bed of his truck then led the way. The street was quiet, here the driveways were long and houses set back from the road with little lighting aside from infrequent street lights. It was perfect. 

Sandor motioned at a home just up ahead on the opposite side of the road, “You recognize it?” 

“Oh yeah.” Margaery nodded, “We strike silent and fast, we’re out of here before they even know what’s happened to them. I think the best strategy would be to-” 

Margaery was cut off from her detailed planning when Sandor set down his bag, popped open the first carton, took an egg, and hurled it at the cherry red convertible at the end of the drive. 

“Sandor!” 

“What?” He asked, grabbing the next and throwing it, “Grab a carton, Marge. I brought six.” 

She quickly got over her shock and took a carton from the bag. Her aim was somewhat less precise than Sandor’s but it was the end of the summer and the weather had been really nice lately, so Joffrey had left the top down on his convertible. 

The egg yolks left a very satisfying yellow residue when they exploded against his black leather seats. 

They threw all six dozen eggs at the car, and when they were done, Sandor ran to his truck and came back with another bag, “What’s that?” 

“Birdseed.” He smirked. 

“I don’t get it.” 

Sandor crossed the street so they were on the same side as the convertible, Margaery right on his heels, “We sprinkle some of this in here, birds come to eat, and they stay to shit.” 

A wide grin crossed Margaery’s face, “You’re a bit of an evil genius, you know.” 

“I grew up with a monster of an older brother.” Sandor said by way of explanation, upending the bag over Joffrey’s car. 

Margaery circled around the car, “Here, toss me the bag.” Sandor did, and Margaery dropped it. The weight hitting the hood of the car set off the alarm.

“Damn it, Tyrell!” Sandor hissed. 

“It’s not my fault the bag is slippery!” 

“Yes it is! I can’t believe you dropped it!”    
“I can’t believe you threw it, you should have known I can’t catch!” 

Their argument was cut short as lights began flicking on all through the neighborhood, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” Sandor said, turning to jog back to the car, Margaery sprinted behind him and hardly managed to haul herself up into the cab of the truck before Sandor was flooring it away.

When they were safely out of the neighborhood and back on the highway, Margaery snorted. Sandor looked at her sideways, “I’m sorry, that just reminded me of high school.” She laughed. 

“You egg a lot of cars in high school?” 

“A few, but that’s not all. Just you know sneaking around in the middle of the night, running from adults, that sort of thing.” 

“You’re an odd one, Tyrell.” 

“You’re the one who came up with the bird seed!” 

Sandor dropped Margaery off back at her apartment just as the sun began to rise, but stopped her before she could jump out of the truck, “You’re serious about this girl, right? Because she’s been through some shit with that boy, and she deserves someone who’s going to be there for her.” 

Margaery smiled at him, the little crooked one that she saved for rare occasions such as this, “Yeah, I’m really serious about her.” 

“Good.” Sandor nodded, now that the gentle moment was over, he was all back to his gruff self, “You did well tonight.” 

“You too.” She opened the door and swung down. 

“Butterfingers.” He called after her just as she was about to shut the door. 

“What did you call me?” 

“You heard.” 

Margaery shook her head and made her way back up to her apartment. It had taken a while for her to get close to the scarred man, but now that she had, she could scarcely imagine her life without him. He felt like one of her brothers, and she knew that even if he would never admit it, she and Tyrion were the closest thing to family he had left. 

The attack on Joffrey’s car was a small blip in the local paper, but nothing ever came of the police investigation opened. 

… 

A week passed, a wonderful week during which Margaery kept in close contact with the Stark girls, Sandor finished the house, and nobody heard from Joffrey Baratheon. 

Margaery was ecstatic, but couldn't help the worry that sat heavy in the back of her mind. She brought it up one evening when they were all at the house. The kitchen was nearly complete and Sandor was just working on the backsplash tiles. Margaery perched on the kitchen island, a bottle of red wine partly opened in her lap, “What are we going to do about this episode?” 

Tyrion looked up from his tablet with a thoughtful look, “We could do like we did with the Fry couple when they divorced in the middle of the renovation.” 

Margaery hummed, getting the cork out and looking around for a cup. She zeroed in on a plastic cup on the counter across from her, she picked it up and peered inside, finding an assortment of screws and nails. With a shrug she emptied it onto the island beside her, blew out the dust, and poured herself a healthy cup, “We would just have to reshoot listings, a walk through, and some bits about style with a dummy couple.”

Tyrion held his hand out for the cup and grimaced slightly when he tasted an undertone of sawdust in the wine, “Exactly. We might even be able to buy the house back from the Baratheons and hold onto it as a model home for a bit before listing it as finished.”

“Always finding a way to turn a profit, eh?” Sandor commented. 

“I'm a Lannister.” Tyrion said by way of explanation. 

Margaery refilled the cup and took a long sip before offering it to Podrick who had been filming their interaction, likely for use in some promotional reel or commercial. The young man blushed but accepted the wine, turning the cup to avoid placing his lips on the lipstick stain Margaery had left. 

“Marge, pass me a couple of spacers.” Sandor asked, holding out one hand behind him. 

“I'm sorry, what?”

“The little plastic things that look like a plus you dumped out of my tool cup.”

Margaery picked through the bits and passed over the spacers, “It’s a bit of a mess in here.” She commented. 

“It's a construction zone, not a fucking winebar.” Sandor deadpanned. Margaery held out the plastic cup and he took it, drinking deeply.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LMK what you thought, now Margaery can make her move ;)  
> P.S. This story has made me obsessed with Sandor and Margaery as BFFs


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The girls are adorable and Arya's simultaneously the best wingwoman and the biggest cock block

Tyrion made a modest offer to the Baratheons and was able to negotiate a good price for the house. They finished the fix in a matter of days following that and they got a member of Sandor’s construction crew and his wife to act as their fake couple. They reshot visiting listings with the new couple, and then a few bits against a green screen that Podrick would use some sort of editing magic to make it look as though the couple had been in the actual home before construction began. 

All in all, it wasn’t too big of a fixing process, and the episode was wrapped and ready for release right on schedule. 

Sansa asked to see the finished home. At first, Margaery had been reluctant, but all it took was one pouting look over lunch for her to cave in. She never was able to say no to Sansa. 

They went in the afternoon, light streamed in through the large bay windows in the front room, casting everything in a golden glow, “It’s beautiful. You all did such a wonderful job with this.” Sansa whispered, standing in the entryway. 

Margaery couldn’t help but preen under the compliment, “It’s mainly Sandor, the man is a miracle worker.” 

They continued through, and in the kitchen, Sansa paused. She ran her fingers along the cabinets and a sad smile came across her face, “What are you thinking?” Margaery asked. 

“I can just see it. Especially in here.” Sansa leant heavily against the counter, “I can see Lady running through the yard, kids doing homework at that kitchen table. I can see the happy life I was supposed to have with Joffrey.” 

Margaery came to stand beside her, offering comfort in her closeness. Sansa wrapped an arm around Margaery’s shoulders, drawing she shorter woman into her side, “I don’t regret leaving him, I know that was the right thing. I just had this whole image in my head of what our life could be, how happy we could be, and it hurts a bit saying goodbye to that.” 

“You can still get that.” Margaery said. 

“I know.” 

They stood together a short while, both of their minds on the future before Margaery broke the silence, “Besides, this laminate flooring is god awful.” 

“You said the light wood looked nice!”

“You seemed so excited about it, I lied.” 

Sansa gently punched Margaery on the arm, “I can’t believe you, Tyrell.” 

… 

Margaery wanted to move on immediately. She wanted a happily ever after with 2.5 kids and a picket fence, and a dog in the backyard. A dog named Lady. She wanted to swoop in and draw Sansa into her arms, and fill their days with soft movie nights in fleece pajamas, and fancy dinner dates with complimentary dresses, and leave lipstick marks all down the redhead’s pale neck. 

She wanted to protect Sansa and make her happy. 

But mostly she wanted to respect the Stark’s wishes, and Sansa wanted to be single for a while. She had been with Joffrey since her senior year of college, and she hadn’t been single in four years. She needed to spend some time alone before she could commit again. 

So Margaery was patient. Painfully patient. 

She inserted herself in Sansa’s life as a new best friend. She took the redhead out on lunch dates, surprised her with coffee at work, and planned little girls nights that they forced Arya into. 

It was nearly two months later at one of those girls nights that Sansa finally made her move. Margaery was sprawled across the couch in her and Arya’s apartment, idly scratching Lady who was lying along the couch in front of her, “The venn diagram of houses in a zone of the city that allows for exotic pets and houses that have enough land for horses is exactly four. And beside that, the wife, Danny, wants it in a good school district!” She ranted, “I mean this is basically impossible and that’s not even looking at any of the interior things they want.” 

Sansa lifted the brunette’s feet and slid beneath them on the couch, “What exotic pets do they have?” Arya asked from the kitchen.

“Komodo dragons.” Margaery stole some popcorn from the bowl on Sansa’s lap, “Three of them. Who the hell keeps dragons as pets?” 

“Aren’t they lizards?” Sansa moved the popcorn closer to the brunette. 

“Whatever they are, they’re a pain in my ass.” 

They selected a romcom to watch for the evening and cracked open a bottle of wine. Over the course of the movie they made it through that bottle, and when they paused for a quick bathroom break intermission, Sansa asked if she should open another. 

“I shouldn’t, I’ve got to drive home.” Margaery said, her lips tucking up in the corner. 

“You could always spend the night.” 

“No, I would hate to put you out like that.”    
Sansa was gentle in her insistence, “It wouldn’t be an inconvenience, I promise.” 

“I’ve got to be at the house early tomorrow.” 

“You can shower here, borrow some clothes.” 

Margaery scanned a gaze up and down Sansa, making a point of dragging her eyes down Sansa’s long legs.

The redhead blushed under the scrutiny, “I’m sure we could find something for you.” 

Margaery let her sweat it out for another moment, “Okay, if you’re sure I wouldn’t be a bother.” 

“You’re practically our third roommate at this point, Marge.” Arya yelled from the kitchen, doing her sisterly duty of ruining any sort of soft moment Sansa was trying to have. 

So the decision was made for her. Sansa opened another bottle, and Margaery tucked in, drawing the blanket closer around herself and shamelessly scooting in closer to tuck herself into Sansa’s side. Arya came in from the kitchen, arms laden down with snacks and resumed the movie, not giving the girls cuddling on the couch a second thought. 

When the credits rolled across the screen, and Arya turned in for the night, Margaery followed Sansa’s lead to her bedroom, “I’ve got some spare shorts and a shirt you can sleep in.” The redhead offered over her shoulder, digging through a drawer to find the clothes. 

She handed them to Margaery, “Bathroom’s down the hall.” 

Under regular circumstances, Margaery would just strip right there, sure to get her point across. But this wasn’t regular circumstances, this was Sansa. So she took the clothes and dutifully changed in the bathroom at the end of the hall. 

And because it wasn’t regular circumstances, Margaery didn’t dare presume anything. She went from the bathroom to the front room and laid down on the couch, stretching out like a cat and getting comfortable in the plush cushions. She remained there for nearly ten minutes until Sansa popped a confused head out of her bedroom door. 

“You don’t actually think you’re sleeping on the couch, do you?” 

It was Margaery’s turn to blush as she shrugged, “I didn’t want to be presumptuous.” 

Sansa rolled her eyes, “Come on then.” 

They got comfortable beneath the covers, having been invited into the redhead’s bed, Margaery was no longer playing coy. She curled right into Sansa’s side, drawing the taller woman’s arm across her waist and laying her head on Sansa’s shoulder. 

For just a second, Sansa stiffened under the contact, but then she melted. Shifting a bit until she could comfortably hold the shorter woman, slipping her opposite arm under Margaery and running it through her long hair. 

Lady shot the brunette a glare for having apparently stolen her spot in Sansa’s bed. In protest, she padded up and laid down on Sansa’s opposite side. The bed was hardly large enough to accomodate two fully grown adults and a massive dog, but Sansa didn’t have the heart to shove Lady off. 

When Margaery woke in the morning, she felt more secure than she had in years. They had shifted in the night, and now Margaery found herself laying nearly completely on top of the redhead. Sansa was still asleep, her breath coming in gentle puffs against Margaery’s cheek, and she took a moment just to appreciate the view. 

Sansa looked years younger in her sleep, more peaceful than Margaery had ever seen her awake, her lips barely parted, and such an inviting pink, Margaery had to restrain herself from leaning in and kissing them. Sansa’s hair was splayed across the pillows in a halo, and Margaery idly ran her fingers through it while she waited for Sansa to wake. 

“No leering without a permit.” 

Margaery chuckled, Sansa’s voice thick and hoarse from sleep was among the sexiest things she had ever heard, “I’m not leering. I was merely appreciating you, sweetling.” 

Their morning was lazy and slow, they stayed in bed for a long while, simply enjoying being close to one another. When they finally emerged, hair tousled, and clothes wrinkled, they found Arya sitting at the kitchen table, her hair in unruly spikes and a pair of thick framed black glasses low on her nose. 

“Coffee’s hot.” She offered, raising a mug of her own in a gesture towards the freshly brewed pot on the counter. 

“Wonderful.” Margaery smiled, she sauntered over to the kitchen and poured herself a cup, “Do you two like pancakes?” 

Arya and Sansa spoke at the same time.

“Of course.” 

“You don’t have to-” 

“Shut up, Sansa. She’s offering.” 

“She’s a guest.” 

“She basically moved in when you did.” 

Sansa blushed and her mouth floundered open and shut in search of a reply. She was saved by Margaery, “It’s no problem, I love cooking and it’s the least I could do to thank you for letting me crash overnight.” 

Sansa was about to protest, but at that moment the brunette turned around and reached up on her tiptoes to pull down a large mixing bowl. The clothes she had borrowed to sleep in were large on her, but she had rolled the waist of the shorts and now as she reached up, Sansa could see the curve of her ass peeking out from beneath the material and her mouth ran dry. 

Watching Margaery in her clothes in her kitchen was something she was sure she would never tire of. Margaery knew exactly what she was doing though, and once she had the bowl she turned around and shot Sansa a small wink. Taking delight in the blush she caused to raise on Sansa’s cheeks. 

After breakfast was eaten and Margaery had raided Sansa’s closet for something she could make work for the day ahead (settling on a simple button up and a pair of slacks rolled at the bottom to make up for their height difference), it was time to say goodbye. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch?” Margaery confirmed, standing in the entryway. 

“Yes.” 

“Okay, thanks again for letting me stay the night.” 

“Any time.” 

Margaery rocked forward to press a kiss to Sansa’s cheek, “Have a good day, sweetling.” 

Sansa watched her walk down the hall a little way before Arya let out an annoyed huff from just behind her, “For seven’s sake. Just go and kiss her properly already!” 

She only hesitated a moment before taking off down the hall, “Margaery, wait!” 

The brunette turned from where she just at the top of the stairs, she didn’t have a chance to ask question forming on her lips before they were covered with Sansa’s own. She cupped both of Margaery’s cheeks, and just barely managed to control the momentum of her sprint down the hall so she didn’t completely crash into the brunette. Rather she ended up with Margaery pinned against the wall and her own hips, pressed together head to toe. 

Margaery responded eagerly to the kiss, her own arms going around Sansa’s waist to hold her even tighter. 

They broke apart only when air became a problem, but they stayed in close contact, foreheads resting against each other. 

“So, um. I really like you, and I think I’m ready to give this a try.” Sansa said by way of explanation. 

Margaery chuckled, “Yeah, I had sort of assumed that. 

… 

The difference between Sansa and Margaery as best friends and Sansa and Margaery as girlfriends honestly isn’t that large. There are still lunch dates (though now they’re actually called ‘dates’) and surprise coffee deliveries, and girls nights in which Margaery takes far too much amusement in forcing a whole number of girly activities on Arya (mud masks are Margaery’s definitive favorite, and as much as Arya protests, she obediently sits still and lets the Tyrell carefully apply the thick brown clay to her face). 

The main shift is their physical proximity. Margaery had always been a very physical person, holding hands, cuddling during movies, brushing hair out of people’s faces. But now everything went up a notch. Holding hands turned into tucking herself beneath Sansa’s arm as they walked down the street, cuddling turned to her practically lying atop Sansa on the small couch in her apartment when they watched movies. 

And the kissing, once Margaery learned just how much fun kissing Sansa was, she couldn’t get enough. Much to Arya’s dismay. She caught them making out in the living room, on the couch, in the kitchen, against the refrigerator, in the hallway, everywhere. She had gone so far as to repurpose the spray bottle she used when the dogs were doing something bad and whenever she caught Margaery and Sansa making out in a ‘public’ area of the apartment, she would squirt them. 

She even took to chastising them, shouting, “Bad girls!” as she sprayed the water. 

Margaery found it entertaining, especially since it pissed Sansa off so much. 

The redhead was just as bad, Margaery’s habits quickly rubbed off on her. She could hardly keep her hands to herself, constantly reaching out for Margaery as if needing tactile reassurance that the other girl was still there. 

At work, Margaery was still an awful flirt, but now it held none of the undertone it used to. Now it was clear that it was all for show. Between filming, she would smile secretively at her phone when she got a particularly sweet text from Sansa. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments, stay tuned for more fluff and a small road bump...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little up, a little down, hopefully it's all around okay. Thanks for reading and commenting :)

When they’d been together for a month, Sansa made her first appearance on ‘Fixer Upper’. Margaery had spent the night at her apartment and in the morning forgotten her purse with her notes on the latest reno project. The school Sansa taught at had a late start and she was able to stop by the large ranch home they were working on to drop off the purse for her girlfriend. 

Sansa texted when she pulled up outside and received the enthusiastic reply, ‘Come on in!’ 

So she did. The house was a disaster zone, she had never seen exposed drywall except for once at a New Years party that she had hosted along with Jon and Robb while they were all in college. Everyone had gotten rather smashed, and when they boys started some ridiculous competition of doing pull ups off a door jamb they were destined for disaster. Robb ripped off the thin strip of wood and fell, putting his elbow through the wall. 

She found Margaery in the backyard with Sandor examining the fence. 

“I’m just saying, the left side was replaced more recently so we don’t need to completely knock out the fence and redo it.” 

“Yes, but wouldn’t it look so much better with a grey slate poly fence. It would last longer too.” 

“Those are a complete pain in the arse to install.” Sandor grumbled. 

Margaery finally caught sight of Sansa over the man’s shoulder, “Sansa!” She exclaimed, taking off across the yard and jumping into her girlfriend’s arms. 

The redhead let out a puff of breath as Margaery collided with her. She rolled with it though, used to Margaery’s excited reactions, and she wrapped her arms around the brunette, picking her up and swinging her around in a circle. 

“Hi there.” She laughed. 

“Hello, sweetling.” Margaery whispered, kissing the redhead’s cheek. 

Sansa set her down, and held out the purse, “For you.” 

“Thanks.” 

Sandor cleared his throat, causing both women to turn to him, the redhead with a slight blush on her cheeks, “Sansa, you know Sandor.” Margaery did the introductions. 

“Nice to see you again.” Sansa nodded politely. 

“You as well.” 

“I uh- had better be off.” Sansa said, tucking her hands awkwardly into her back pockets, “I’ve got a meeting at ten that I still need to do some prep for.” 

“See you tonight.” 

“Yeah.” 

Margaery wrapped an arm around Sansa’s neck to draw her down and press a solid kiss to her lips. When she released the redhead, Sansa was slightly dazed, a silly smile on her face. She hardly managed a little wave over her shoulder at Sandor as she left. 

“You two are gross.” 

“We’re fucking adorable.” 

Neither of them noticed that Podrick had been filming the whole thing. The little interaction made it into the final cut of the episode, and Sansa saw it one evening as she was cooking dinner. She liked having the show on in the background, the sound of Margaery’s voice in the background while she was cooking was relaxing. 

She was ridiculously surprised when she saw her own red hair on the television screen and watched as she picked Margaery up and twirled her around. 

… 

When they’d been together for four months, Margaery showed up to a consultation meeting in a mood more foul than Sandor and Tyrion had ever seen. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Sandor asked bluntly. 

“Sansa and I had a fight.” 

“So, you two fight constantly about stupid shit.” The tall man recalled the numerous times he had been witness to the two women arguing about whether to get wheat pasta or regular, or who’s apartment to stay at, or any number of small spats that always ended in disgustingly sweet kisses and compromises. 

“Not like this.” Margaery shook her head, “She kicked me out of her apartment.” 

“What did you do?” Tyrion queried. 

“Slept with Cersei Lannister.” 

Sandor couldn’t contain his laughter, “That one came back to bit you in the ass.” He got up to go and make a couple cups of coffee.

Margaery punched him weakly in the arm as he passed, and Tyrion sighed. That certainly wasn’t helping, “How did she find out?” 

“Cersei told her.” 

“What?” 

“Sansa was at the store and she ran into Cersei who had seen that episode where we kissed and she made some comment about how it felt to have her sloppy seconds. Sansa put it together and then asked me about it last night.”

“You didn’t lie about it, did you?” Sandor passed the brunette a cup of coffee. 

“Of course not.” Margaery looked offended at the thought, “But still, she was mad that I hadn’t told her sooner.” She thought back to the worst fight they’d had to date. 

… 

“You slept with her.” 

“It didn’t mean anything.” Margaery tried to explain, “We just hooked up a couple of times.” 

“Why did you hide it?”    
“I wasn’t hiding anything! Did you want a alphabetized list of all the people I’ve slept with before we got together?”

Sansa’s eyes flashed, “No, but you might have thought to tell me that one of those people is the mother of the man I was engaged to!” 

“And when would have been a good time?” Margaery shot back, “Yesterday at lunch, just casually mention, ‘Oh yeah, don’t think anything of it, but one time Cersei Lannister bent me over the vanity in the bathroom I designed for her and her husband and fucked me until I walked funny.’ Is that what you wanted me to say?” 

Sansa clenched her jaw, “Get out.” 

“Sansa.” The brunette took a quick step forward, reaching out and trying to catch one of Sansa’s hands, but the Stark wouldn’t allow it, crossing her arms over her chest.

“No, I don’t want to hear it. Just get out.” 

“Can we just talk about this?” 

Sansa sighed, “Later, but now I just need some space to think about this, alright?” 

“Okay.” Margaery bit her lip, “You know that you’re the only person I care about now, right?” 

“I know.” 

The brunette nodded. She grabbed her purse and only hesitated a moment before pressing a soft kiss to Sansa’s cheek and leaving the apartment. 

… 

“We’ve never fought like that before.” Margaery took a contemplative sip of coffee. 

Tyrion knew a thing or two about angry women and decided to impart some wisdom, “Okay, here’s what you do. Send her flowers, I don’t care what kind and I’m sure you’ll be able to come up with some ridiculously meaningful bouquet or some shit, just make sure it’s a lot of flowers. Then apologize, profusely, it’s all your fault, even if it isn’t.” 

“You make a lot of women angry?” Sandor teased. 

“A fair number.” 

Margaery pulled out her cell phone, “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Let me just make a call, and I’ll be ready for the meeting. What couple do we have coming in today?”  

“The Martells, just moved here from Dorne.” Tyrion supplied. 

The woman nodded and stood from the table, bringing the phone to her ear, “Wilas, hi! How’re things at High Garden? Yeah, all good with me. Listen, I need to get some flowers delivered.” She left the conference room, listing off flowers she wanted included. 

… 

All told, Margaery sent Sansa three bouquets to the high school over the course of the school day. It was enough that even the students were gossiping about it by eighth period. 

She sent two more that evening. When the sixth one arrived the following morning, Sansa called. 

“I’ve run out of vases.” 

“I can have the next bouquet delivered with one.” Margaery offered. 

Sansa laughed, “How about you bring one over.” 

“To your apartment?” 

“Yeah. Does dinner tonight work?” 

“Dinner tonight is perfect.” 

Margaery showed up to dinner with a bottle of wine and two dozen roses. 

Sansa didn’t have a chance in hell of staying angry when the brunette flashed her that crooked smile, “You shouldn’t have.” 

Margaery shrugged, “I wanted to.” 

“I have literally nowhere to put them.” Sansa stood aside and let Margaery into the apartment, gesturing at the flowers overflowing every surface. They were in an assortment of vases and tall drinking glasses. 

The next morning Arya threw a fit when she couldn’t brew the coffee since the carafe was filled with roses. 

… 

Sandor was really desperately sweaty. The house they were working on was for a couple and their young daughter and they had just found out that the fireplace wasn't up to code and Sandor had to demolish the entire thing and rebuild it. 

He was attacking the brick monstrosity for a sledge hammer when Margaery came by to visit the project, “I thought you would have had that finished by now.” She commented between hammer blows. 

Sandor turned slowly, dramatically pushing his safety glasses up to sit on the top of his head and wiping his face with a bandana from his pocket before he gave her a proper glare, “It’s three fucking feet of brick thick and a story and a half high.”

“So it's going to take you what, another hour?” He narrowed his eyes, “Two hours?” A raised eyebrow, “I'll trust you to get it done.”

“There’s a good girl.” Sandor smiled, setting down his sledge hammer and taking a break, “What brings you here on a construction day? Need to get measurements for those french doors to the dining room?”    
“I do need those measurements, but actually I wanted to ask for a small teensy tiny favor.” 

“What broke?” He asked bluntly. 

Margaery smiled and pulled out a bottle of Gatorade she had brought as a bribe, “My sink is leaking.” 

“Which one?” 

“Both.” 

Sandor rubbed a tired hand down his face, “For how long?” 

“About two weeks.” 

“And you can’t call the super because?” 

Margaery sighed, “Because the plumber he calls takes forever to get scheduled, and last time I might have told him to go to hell when he made a comment about my ass.” 

“Of course you did.” Sandor nodded, taking a long sip of the sports drink, “I can be over tomorrow night.” 

“Great, I’ll make dinner.” 

“Lasagne?” 

“Anything for you, Sandy.” 

“Never call me that again.” 

“Right, got it. See you tomorrow, you’ll have the fireplace done by then, yeah?” 

Sandor shot her a final disproving glare as the brunette carefully picked her way through the rubble to the front door. 

… 

The next day Sandor was laying on his back, his head beneath the sink in Margaery’s bathroom with a wrench in hand, “Okay, now try the hot water tap.” 

“It’s on, no water.” 

“Great.” He grunted as he began unscrewing something. 

“So I need some advice.” 

“Draino.” Sandor said. 

“What?” 

“There’s your advice. Buy some Draino, it’s a wonder you don’t have more plumbing problems given how much fuckin hair you have.” 

Margaery rolled her eyes, despite the effect being lost on the man beneath the sink, “Yeah, thanks for that. Here’s the thing, I want to move in with Sansa.” 

“No you don’t.” 

“No I don’t.” Margaery agreed with a sigh, dropping to sit on the edge of her tub, “But I want her to move in with me.” 

“There we go.” Sandor chuckled, “If you moved in anywhere with her you would have half the walls knocked down and the bathroom retiled within a week.” 

“I know, but if she moves in, it won’t be an issue. My apartment is already perfect, and it’s got plenty of space, and it’s pet friendly so there wouldn’t be any issue with Lady moving in.” She trailed off. 

“So ask her. Hand me a socket wrench.” Margaery skimmed the toolbox at her feet and held out her selection for the man, “This is a pair of pliers. The socket wrench had a blue handle.”

“Whoops.”

“You've been working on a home renovation show for nearly four years, how are you so bad with tools?”

“I'm a decoration person, interior design. I don't built the walls, I choose what to put on them.”

“Spare me the lecture.” Sandor dismissed. 

Margaery sat quietly for a moment, “What if she says no?” 

The man did his very best not to roll his eyes, “She’s not going to say no. That girl loves you, you’ve been together nearly a year, and she’s basically moved in already.” 

“No she hasn’t.” 

“How many toothbrushes are on top of this sink right now, Margaery?” 

She blushed just the smallest bit, “A toothbrush doesn’t mean anything.” 

“And there’s two different kinds of shampoo in the shower.” 

“You’re too observant for a straight man, you know that?” 

Sandor finished beneath the sink and slid out, “You’re deflecting. Just ask her, she basically lives here already.” 

“Right, I can do this.” Margaery pepped herself up the smallest bit, “Lasagne will be done in like fifteen minutes, just enough time for you to do the kitchen sink!” 

“You’re lucky you’re a good cook.” Sandor said, moving his stuff to fix the next sink. 

… 

Margaery presented Sansa with a key by the end of the week, and four days later the redhead was moved in. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> supportive girlfriends are supportive. we are all shireen baratheon and wish that sansa could have been our high school engilsh teacher. hope this provides some good background into sansa's characterization in this story.

“So I’m thinking we completely change the feel of this space. We finish the fireplace with concrete, do glass paned hangar doors on the dining room. Think sleek edges, straight lines, lots of white, black, and grey. What do you think?” 

The Baratheons looked around, trying to envision the space the way Margaery had described it. Selyse was the first to answer, “I love it, I’ve always wanted something more modern.” 

“I suppose that would look nice.” Stannis agreed, “I like the idea of being able to see straight through from the kitchen to the family room and dining room.” 

“Great!” Margaery smiled, “On the back wall we completely take out the drywall and do floor to ceiling windows-”

“That sounds like a lot of windows to clean.” 

Margaery spun around to see the Baratheon’s ten year old daughter Shireen looking critically at the back wall where the proposed windows would go. 

“I’m so sorry about her.” Selyse cut in, sending her daughter a warning look, “Our sitter cancelled last minute. After this, she’s going to along with Stannis to the office.” 

The girl looked entirely bored with that prospect, “I can take her.” Margaery said, surprising even herself. 

“Oh no, I wouldn’t want her bothering you all day.”    
“It would be no bother.” Margaery found herself insisting, “She can help me find some neat pieces for the house, would you like that Shireen?” 

The young girl was already beaming at the prospect of being able to spend the afternoon with the stylish Margaery Tyrell, she nodded eagerly, “Can I, mom?” 

Selyse hesitated a moment, but Stannis was all for it, “She would enjoy it much better than staying with me at the office.” 

“Well I suppose-” 

“Thanks mom!” Shireen cut her mother off before she could change her mind.

“Then it’s decided!” Margaery grinned, “I can drop her back at your house sometime this evening, when do you normally get home from work?” 

… 

Margaery took Shireen to the flooring store where the girl had some very valuable insight on tile, to her secret storage container full of furniture pieces she had picked up over the years, and even to her woodworking guy. 

Davos was completely taken with Shireen. 

“I’m working on a house for Shireen and her family. It’s aggressively modern, sharp, clean, not your usual stuff I know, but I was thinking you could make some accent pieces.” Margaery introduced. 

“I can work with that.” 

“Great. I was hoping for a mantle, the fireplace is going to be concrete and I was thinking something a bit more rustic, sort of tie the room together.”    
“I think I have some great pieces of wood out back I’ve been saving for something like this. Do you want to go sift through them and mark any that stand out?” 

“Sounds good. Shireen, do you want to help me look?” The girl had been extremely helpful so far, and Margaery actually thought that her eye could help find some nice pieces.

“Can I stay here with Mr. Seaworth?” 

Margaery looked for the man for an answer, “I’d love to show her around the shop.” 

Fifteen minutes later, Margaery had decided she wanted just about every piece of wood that Davos had to offer, and she came back into the main part of the shop to find him showing Shireen how to work the lathe. 

When it was time to go, he presented her with a little hand carved deer and the offer to return any time. 

Their next stop was for lunch. Margaery decided to splurge a bit, taking the girl to her favorite bistro which Shirren loved. She felt extremely grown up sitting across from Margaery at lunch, and Margaery couldn’t say she didn’t love their time together as well. She ordered an extra sandwich and took Shireen on a bit of a side trip to the Westeros Preparatory Academy. 

The woman at the security desk recognized Margaery and was writing her a nametag before she even reached the desk, “Good afternoon, Allana. How’re your boys?” 

“Growing faster each day, who have you got with you today?” 

“Shireen, we’re going to deliver a little lunch to Sansa.” 

“How sweet!” The woman was without a doubt one of Sansa and Margaery’s biggest cheerleaders, “Here’s your nametags, you know the way.”

“You’re a doll, Allana.” Margaery smiled, leading the way for her and Shireen through the halls of the high school. It was during a class period so the hallways were blissfully empty of teenagers, “God, it smells just like when I was in high school.” Margaery commented. 

“Like what?” Shireen trailed along at her elbow. . 

“Like sweat, and body spray, and angst.” 

Shireen was clearly going to ask another question when they rounded a corner and Margaery stopped, peeking in the small glass window of a classroom. She adored watching Sansa in her element, the students were completely enraptured in the lecture and Sansa was smiling, her shoulders thrown back in confidence. 

After a minute there was a pause in the class where Sansa must have given her students an assignment and she went to sit at her desk, “We’re up!” Margaery opened the door and started in. 

The students by now were used to seeing Margaery Tyrell popping into classes from time to time, and a few smiled and gave little hello waves. Margaery was halfway across the room when she realized she was alone, Shireen was standing frozen in the doorway, a deer in the headlights expression on her face. 

Margaery went back, she kneeled down in front of the girl, “They’re all really nice, I promise.” She confided in a whisper. 

She shared a little smile with Shireen and took the girl’s hand, leading her across the front of the room to Sansa’s desk, “We brought you some lunch.” 

“Thank you.” The redhead’s grin was wide as she took in the sight of her girlfriend hand in hand with an adorable kid, “And who might you be?” 

“Shireen.” The girl supplied. 

“We’re doing that beautiful corner house on Dragonstone for her family.” 

“Oh, that house is lovely.” 

Margaery nodded, placing the takeout she had brought on a clean bit of Sansa’s desk, the redhead smiled as she read the logo on the side of the bag, “Hot Pie’s! Is it a holiday I forgot about?” 

“I don’t need a holiday to surprise my girlfriend with the best sandwich in all of Westeros.” Margaery said with a tinge of fake offense in her voice, “We had better go, we’ve got a hot date.”

“Oh, should I be jealous?” It had taken months for them to get here, where Sansa would so easily flirt with Margaery, especially here where she knew full well her entire classroom of seventeen year olds were listening in. 

“No, Bronn doesn’t look nearly as cute in a tennis skort as you do.” 

Sansa blushed and Margaery smirked. 

“I’ll see you at home tonight.” The brunette said, bending down to kiss Sansa chastely.

She waved over her shoulder as she pulled the classroom door shut behind her, lingering just long enough to hear one of the students exclaim, “Ms. Stark, you moved in with Margaery?” 

“Now I’m no expert.” Sansa began dryly, “But I don’t think my living arrangement has to do with Crime and Punishment.” 

There was a disappointed murmur as the gossip was shut down. 

… 

Sansa was packing up her things toward the end of her final class of the day when she heard it. As a high school teacher she had gotten rather adept at picking out exactly what her students were saying, and she couldn’t help the chills she felt when she heard it. 

“I’m sorry, but can’t make it to the soccer game on Friday, Tom.” 

“All the other boy’s girlfriends are going to be there.” 

“It’s Emily’s birthday and she’s having a special dinner.” 

“If you really loved me, you would be at my game.” 

There was a pause, “I guess I can tell Emily that I can’t go.” 

Sansa spent the final five minutes before the end of class debating whether or not to say anything, and when the bell rang, she couldn’t help the words that tumbled out of her mouth, “Elizabeth, would you stay after for a minute?” 

The girl nodded, slinging her backpack over her shoulder and meeting Sansa at the front of the room, “Is this about my last essay because I might have gotten some of the stuff on nihilism wrong, but my sister was really confusing when she tried to explain it to me.” 

Sansa grinned, she had Elizabeth’s older sister in class a couple years ago and knew that she was now studying philosophy at the local state university, “No, it’s not about that. It’s actually about Tom.” 

“Oh.” 

Sansa observed the teenager for a beat. She reminded her of herself in high school, eyes bright and excited for the future, all innocent and aspirational. It hurt her to do this, but she wished someone had stepped in for her, “How long have you two been together?” 

“Four months next week.” 

“Wow.” In high schooler time four months was basically two years, “I’m sure he’s wonderful, but the way he was talking to you isn’t alright.” Elizabeth narrowed her eyes in confusion, prompting the teacher to continue, “If a boy is forcing you to choose between spending time with him and your friends, that’s not a good sign.”

“You just don't get it.” Elizabeth denied, “Margaery is your best friend so you don't have to choose, it's different with me and Tom.”

Sansa smiled just the smallest bit at mention of her own significant other, “That may be true, but Margaery isn't my  _ only  _ friend.I know what it's like. I was in high school too once believe it or not, and I'll even let you in on a little secret.” The teen’s eyebrows rose, prompting Sansa to go on, “I was engaged to a man last year, so I understand having to balance between friends and your boy.  And asking you to prove how much you love him like he did about the soccer game isn’t what a healthy relationship looks like.” 

The teenager’s eyes cast down to the floor, and Sansa knew she had struck a chord, “I know it’s a lot to think about. But if you need anything, I’m here for you or I can connect you to any of the other resources the school has to offer.” 

Elizabeth nodded, but still didn’t say anything. She turned and walked towards the door of the room where she paused, “Thank you, Ms. Stark.” 

Sansa smiled, knowing she had done the right thing, “Of course. By the way, your essay was wonderful.” 

She lingered a bit longer in her classroom, walking between desks and picking up trash. All the while reflecting on her own experience. She wished that there had been someone there when everything started going South with Joffrey, but then she realized, it didn't happen all at once. It was a gradual process. 

They met in her senior year of college, Joff was a year older and had already graduated. He was living in an apartment close to campus and for that first year he was perfect, they were perfect. He was charming, and he took her out on wonderful dates, she met his family and was enraptured by how perfect everything seemed. It only made sense that she move in with him when she graduated and got a teaching job nearby. Everything was perfect, until the cracks started showing. 

They were always small things, little comments about how she was gaining weight or how late she was at the school. Just small things, digs at how much she cared about him, how devoted she was to the relationship. Nobody else saw, her own family was so far spread, Robb and Jon had graduated her first year of college and moved across the country, Arya went to university across the sea in Braavos and only moved to Westeros years later when Sansa and Joffrey were engaged. She was entirely alone.

The Baratheons, Sansa quickly learned, were not as perfect as they seemed. Cersei was fully aware of her oldest son’s controlling tendencies but didn't care to step in, it was lucky if Robert even knew his children’s middle names. The only saving grace was Myrcella, four years younger than Sansa, but she clearly knew what her brother was like having grown up with him. She always smiled so sadly at Sansa when she saw her at holidays or family functions, always asking with the dearest sincerity how Sansa was and if she was happy. 

Sansa for her part knew no other options. She moved straight from a dorm into Joffrey’s apartment and the gentle way that his abuse escalated made it feel as if that's how their relationship had always been. In four years, Joffrey had managed to completely warp her expectations, isolate her from her friends and family, and render her entirely dependent on his whim. Sansa could scarcely remember a time she wasn't walking on eggshells, and by the time they were engaged it felt like second nature. 

Margaery, with her brash confidence and her unwillingness to let things go, was the first person to see through her little show. The first person she was close enough with to let in.

Now looking back, she couldn’t believe how she had let things get so far out of hand. But that was all behind her, now she had Margaery and Arya and she would never let that happen again. 

… 

Later that evening when Margaery arrived home to their shared apartment, she found Sansa humming to herself as she spun around the kitchen wearing an apron and preparing dinner. She looked like a 50’s housewife, and Margaery felt herself fall just a little more in love. Margaery paused to watch her girlfriend for a while, enjoying the simple domesticity of the moment. 

Sansa caught sight of Margaery watching her and perked up instantly, “Hello there.” 

“Hey, sweetling.” The brunette grinned, stepping into the kitchen. 

Sansa surprised Margaery, wrapping her arms around the shorter woman and lifting her just a bit off the ground and pressing their lips together in a solid kiss. 

“What was that for?” Margaery asked when she was set right on her feet again, “Not that I’m complaining of course.” 

“Nothing. I just love you.” 

“I love you too, Sansa.” 

The redhead was quiet a moment, holding Margaery close with a contemplative look on her face, “We should get married.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Sansa got a little half grin on her face as she let go of the brunette and dropped down onto one knee, “Margaery Tyrell, I love you so much, and the past year and a half with you has been filled with such happiness and strength, I know that I want this for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?” 

Margaery pressed a hand over her mouth to try and contain the little surprised gasp that jumped up her throat, and she nodded vigorously, “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.” 

Surging up, Sansa caught Margaery’s happy laughter on her own lips and swallowed the noise. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ty for reading and commenting


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments, hope you like this chapter too

“I hate lesbians.” Margaery sighed dramatically as she flopped down on a low rung of a nearby ladder. 

“You are a lesbian. You’re marrying a lesbian.” Tyrion pointed out.

Margaery considered giving her ‘marrying a woman does not immediately make someone a lesbian’ lecture, after all both she and Sansa had extensive dating histories with the opposite sex- though she herself landed far closer to the sapphic side of the scale than straight. But she decided to forgo it given how exasperated she was, “That’s just the problem!” The short man merely raised an eyebrow, prompting her to continue, “Nobody ever warns you how hard it is to plan a lesbian wedding! Think about it, you’ve got two women who have been dreaming about their perfect day since they were kids and of course they thought of completely different colors for the bridesmaids dresses and different kinds of flowers and that’s only the beginning!” 

Sandor chuckled a bit, “Sounds like quite the predicament.” 

“And that’s all before you even start thinking about the dresses. Did you know there’s approximately a billion different shades of white? And none of them fucking match each other and the odds of both of our dream dressing being the exact same shade are literally zero.” 

“You could do like off whites?” Pod suggested. 

“Oh, sweet Podrick.” Margaery smiled, “You cannot simply wear off white wedding gowns.” 

Sandor seemed to have finally reached the end of his rope with the constant stream of chatter that accompanied these late evenings he worked while the rest of his coworkers would sit idly by and talk. He had finally had enough, “That's it. This is not a fucking nail salon, or cafe, or wine bar, or little tots daycare where you women can sit around and gossip all day long. If you're here, you're going to work and this whole fucking house has to be painted imperial white because someone decided that eggshell white wasn't right for this space!” He ranted pouring out paint into three additional containers and handing them around, “Even you Pod. Camera down and start painting some trim.”

“I'm wearing heels.” Margaery eyed her paint bucket with disdain. 

“We swept earlier today. Feel free to take them off so long as you don't wander into any of the bathrooms.”

Tyrion was the only one who did not protest as he accepted his paintbrush and bucket with grim determination, “Dresses aside, how much have you two gotten squared away?” 

“We’ve done the invitations, the registry, set the date and location, chosen a band, set the menu, decided on the cake.” Margaery listed, carefully rollering her section of the wall, “Oh, and the flowers. Of course we’ve done the flowers.” 

“That sounds like a lot.” Pod chipped in encouragingly. 

“I suppose.” She agreed, “But there’s still so much left to do. And we have to do seating arrangements for the dinner, gods that will be a nightmare.”

“Don't you dare put me at a table with your grandmother.” Tyrion’s warning stare was severe and she could hardly blame the man for wanting to keep a wide berth of Olenna.

“Who said you were even invited?” 

…

Their wedding was a small intimate ceremony held the following summer. It was on the extensive property of Sansa’s childhood home, just immediate family and close friends with Pod volunteering to record the whole ceremony as his gift to the couple. The reception was another story entirely, they rented out a large ballroom in a beautiful hotel and invited just about half the population of Westeros. 

Since it was the summer and Sansa was off for summer break and Fixer Upper was on it’s season hiatus they had plenty of time to take a long honeymoon to Dorne. They returned tan (Margaery), slightly burnt (Sansa), and even more in love. 

The first couple they featured on Fixer Upper for season five was Loras and Renly. Sitting in the conference room before the initial meeting while they waited for the two men to arrive, Sandor voiced the question that had clearly been on his mind for a while, “When are we going to have someone on this show that isn’t in either of your fucking families?” 

Margaery rolled her eyes, “Loras is the first Tyrell.” 

“Okay, but I swear I’ve done houses for every fucking Lannister in Westeros.” 

Tyrion shrugged, “There’s a lot of us and we have the money to afford sinking an obscene amount into a new home.” 

“It’s lucky you all have alright taste for the most part.”

“It’s unsettling.” 

Loras and Renly arrived then, interrupting the conversation and Sandor and Tyrion winced as Margaery practically screeched in excitement at seeing her closest brother enter the office. 

Normally consultations were a dull affair for Sandor and Tyrion. Most of the work was Margaery gathering stylistic preferences of the couple to build a vision while the other men were mainly just there to meet the families they’d be working with. But the Tyrell consult was another thing entirely. 

It was clear that while the two youngest Tyrell siblings looked like they could be twins, their tastes could not be more different. Each suggestion from Loras we met by firm rebuke from his sister who seemed to agree with Renly at every intersection. The brunette generally kept her opinion to herself during these meetings, but evidently since it was her own brother she was not afraid to give her honest thoughts. 

Sandor and Tyrion felt like they were watching every disagreement the siblings ever had growing up rehashed right in the conference room as they bickered over each minute detail. 

“Because dark granite countertops, wood cabinets, and a patterned tile floor would look stupid.” Margaery sighed. 

“No it wouldn’t!” Loras stubbornly shot back.

“Yes it would! Remember how awful your room looked in high school when you had that god awful rug and the patterned wallpaper? It’s just too much going on.”    
“But the walls would be plain.” 

“No, you would have a decorative backsplash.” 

“I don’t want a backsplash.” 

“You can’t just not have a backsplash! What kind of heathen are you?” 

“We can table the specifics of the kitchen for now.” Tyrion tried to interject. 

“We can’t figure out the living room or the office until we have the kitchen figured out because of the open concept.” 

“When did we agree on the open concept?” Loras ran a hand through his hair angrily, mussing up the curls that were so perfectly mirrored on Margaery. 

“You can’t not have an open concept, Loras. What did you want me to fucking put up more walls so you’re living in a damn cubicle park?” 

“I like your wife better than you.” The man said childishly sitting back in his seat and crossing his arms. 

“Well I like your husband better.” 

… 

This continued for the entire renovation. From the listings tour where Margaery systematically picked apart every objection Loras raised to a house, to the discussion of how the finished backyard will look. Loras insisted that they needed a large patio area with a grill for entertaining to which Margaery just laughed and said, “Since when do you know how to grill and who the hell do you think you'll be entertaining?”

Renly was the only saving grace, having dealt with the bickering siblings for over six years, he knew exactly how and when to step in to diffuse the tension. When it benefited him of course. He was all too happy to sit back and let Margaery steamroll her brother when he said he would rather have three extra inches of space at the bartop than three extra inches of space in storage on the kitchen island. Seriously, who would choose counter space over storage?

Despite his protests, when they made it to the end of the Fixer Upper process, Loras was in love with the result. As a surprise, Margaery had done the back garden as a miniature replication of their grandmother’s, it had been her and Loras’s favorite place when they were kids. 

The man would deny it until his dying day, but Margaery swore he cried a bit when he saw it. 

… 

Things fell into a nice rhythm, they made dinner together and shared lazy early morning kisses. They slept in on the weekends and Lady had a spot at the foot of their bed. In November Margaery floated the idea of them buying a house together. 

“I just mean the apartment’s fine for now, but we should start thinking about the future. Something with space to grow into.” She explained cautiously, doing her best not to overstep, not to scare Sansa off. 

To her delight, the redhead got a silly little grin on her face, “Space to grow into? Margaery Stark-Tyrell, are you implying you want to have kids with me?”  She teased. 

“Maybe.” She shrugged. 

The decision for them to be on Fixer Upper was one of the easiest they’d ever made. Margaery had tried her best, she’d looked up listings and they’d visited a dozen perfectly nice homes  that Margaery had systematically dismissed. 

“Face it, Marge you’re going to hate any home that you haven’t designed yourself.” Sansa told her as they exited lucky house number fifteen that Margaery had dismissed because the upper floor layout made no sense to her.

“Maybe I’m a little picky.” The brunette allowed. 

“What if you just designed our home?” 

Margery got the scary look in her eyes. The same look she got just before convincing Sansa to sneak into the aquarium with her after hours, and they only just got out of that one because the Margaery flirted shamelessly with the cops who showed up, and they just happened to be fans of the show. It was the same look that she got at Loras and Renly’s wedding before she dragged Sansa off for a quickie in a janitor’s closet of the church. 

It was a look that meant nothing but trouble. 

“Okay, this might sound crazy, but what if we go on Fixer Upper?” 

“You’re right, that sounds absolutely crazy.” 

“No, but hear me out.” Margaery took Sansa’s hands and bounced up excitedly on her toes, “This would be perfect. Sandor really is the best contractor I’ve ever met, and if I designed the house it would be just the way we want it. Come on Sansa!” 

The redhead watched her wife’s enthusiasm skeptically for a moment. As crazy as she thought the idea was, she would appreciate having Sandor and Tyrion to help temper Margaery’s single minded crazy when she got going on a project she was really excited about. 

“Okay.”    
“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Yes!” Margaery shouted in triumph, her grin was ear to ear as she victoriously jumped into Sansa’s arms. The taller woman chuckled, but hugged Margaery close, turning her wife in a circle the way she knew Margaery secretly loved. 

“We have so much to do!” The brunette said once she was back on her feet, her mouth already running a million miles a minute, “I’ll talk to Tyrion and we’ll get scheduled for a consultation. We’re about to wrap the last episode and I think we should be able to bump that single woman who’s up next-”

… 

Two weeks later Margaery found herself sitting at the opposite end of the conference table than she normally was at, staring down at Sandor and Tyrion. The taller man had a smirk on his face that Margaery didn’t like in the slightest. 

“So, what kind of home did the two of you have in mind?” He asked once Podrick gave a thumbs up that the camera was rolling. 

“Seriously Sandor?” 

“Hey, this is an essential meeting to get an idea of what style the two of you have so we can best make your dream home a reality.” He quoted one of Margaery’s lines back at her. 

“You don’t know the difference between a Georgian Colonial and a Federal Colonial.” Margaery accused.

“One is Federal and the other is fuck ugly.” 

“Swearing!” Podrick chimed in, earning himself a glare from the tall man.

“This meeting is ridiculous.” The brunette sat back in her seat. 

“I’m sure we’ve all heard time and again Margaery’s own preferences in homes, but we still need to get Sansa’s input on everything.” Tyrion did his very best to bring everything back on track. 

“Of course!” Margaery pulled out her design notebook, easily slipping back into the role she was so used to, “Modern or traditional?”

Sansa blushed under the attention, “Well you do love traditional houses.” 

“Ah, nope.” The brunette cut her wife off with a hand on her knee, “I am not Joffrey Baratheon. I want your honest uncensored opinion, this house is going to be ours.” 

They shared loving smiles and Sandor made a fake gagging noise, “Is this how this whole fucking project is going to go?” 

“Swearing!” 

“Fuck off, Pod!” 


	8. Chapter 8

“How do you feel about hardware on kitchen cabinets?” 

“What?” 

“You know handles and stuff. Hardware free gives it a sleek finish and looks modern and really polished, but it can be a bit far to one extreme.” 

“Baby, you know I love you and I’m truly very invested in our house, right?” Sansa asked. 

“Mhm.” The brunette hummed. 

“But it’s three am, in five hours I have to be functional for a class of eighteen year old monsters who do a very poor job of pretending to be interested in Virginia Woolf. Can we discuss cabinets another time?” 

“Of course, sweetling.” Margaery agreed, laying her head back down on Sansa’s shoulder and snuggling closer to her wife, “Can we talk about bathroom hardware instead? We need to decide between copper and silver and then between brushed and gilded finish.” 

Sansa rolled over with a groan, turning her back on Margaery. 

“Sweetling?” When she got no reply, Margaery propped her chin on the redhead’s shoulder, “Sweeeeetling?” She sang.

“Marge, I love you a whole hell of a lot.” 

“Usually when you start a thought reminding me how much you love me, I don’t like where it ends.” 

The redhead chuckled, her voice deep and tired with sleep, “I love you, but if you don’t let me go back to sleep, I’m going to strangle a teenager around one pm.” 

“Fine.” Margaery pouted. She flopped down onto her back on her side of the bed for a solid fifteen seconds before she popped back up, “Okay concept, we have sex and then you can sleep for another couple of hours before you’ve got to be up for the day and all your teenagers survive to complain another day.” 

The redhead groaned, her wife was truly incorrigible, “Marge-” 

“Sansa.” 

“Fine, but I fully expect to be asleep again in an hour.” 

“Psh, that’s enough time to do it at least three times.” Margaery smirked, climbing on top of the taller woman already kissing down her neck, her hands sneaking under Sansa’s sleep top. 

… 

They went with simple handles on their cabinets. The no hardware look was too modern for the more traditional home they were going for. 

… 

“Your wife has finally gone off the deep end.” Sandor was elbow deep in stone and mortar, kneeling in front of the fireplace he was building by hand for the house. 

“Gods, is it worse than the great carpet incident of twenty seventeen?” Sansa’s brows knit together. She had seen Margaery get invested in projects before, but the last few weeks had been something entirely different. 

“I’m not sure it’s worse, but it’s definitely different.” 

“Oh boy.” The redhead shuffled the drinks she had brought with her, handing a cup to the man, “This looks amazing by the way, it reminds me exactly of the one we had in my house growing up.” 

“Marge sent me some pictures of it she took last Christmas when the two of you went to Winterfell to use as references.” 

Sansa opened and closed her mouth, “Last Christmas?”

“That’s what she said.” He confirmed, taking a sip of the coffee. 

“We just made the decision to do this a couple of months ago. If she was taking reference photos of the fireplace last Christmas she must have been planning this for ages.” 

“Did you really expect anything different?” 

Sansa thought for a moment, “I suppose not. I better go find her.” 

“Kitchen area last I saw.” 

“Thanks, Sandor.” 

She found her wife standing in the middle of their future kitchen, staring intently out the hole that would become a window. Her lips were pinched up in the corner in a way that told Sansa she was thinking rather hard. 

“Margaery?” 

The brunette startled, turning around and sending Sansa a little smile, “Hey, I wasn’t expecting you here today.” 

“A kid pulled the fire alarm at a pep assembly and over eighty percent of the student body left so the principal called it a half day.” 

“Ah private schools.” 

“Mhm.” She handed Margaery the coffee she had picked up for her on the way, “What’re you staring at?” 

“I was just thinking, come stand right here and go with me on this.” She took Sansa’s hand and pulled her to a spot in the middle of the kitchen, “So look out the back window-” 

“Hole.” 

“Hush, you.” Margaery chastised, “As it stands we’re doing windows to that mark there,” she gestured at a pencil line close to the ceiling, “But then if you’re standing here where the kitchen island will go, the wall between the ends of the window and the start of the back door will obscure the view of the big oak in the backyard.” 

“Okay.” Sansa didn’t quite get where she was going with this, “And?” 

“And when we have kids and put a swing in that tree we’re not going to be able to see them play while we’re cooking!” 

The redhead took a deep breath, she looked between Margaery and the hole in the back of their house. Her wife had such a sincere expression of concern on her face that Sansa felt bad laughing at her, she really did, but she couldn’t help it. 

“Don’t laugh!” Margaery shot her wife a stern look, “This is a serious conundrum.” 

“Okay, I’m sorry.” Sansa set her lips seriously, “Let’s knock out the whole wall.” 

“What?” 

“We take out this wall and all the other walls, replace them with glass. We’ll never not see each other.” A glare from Margaery and Sansa smiled, “Kidding, but really. Why don’t we do a whole glass back wall like you did with the house for Shireen and her family?” 

Margaery cocked her head to the side, her eyes squinting in concentration as she tried to imagine it. She bit her lip, drawing out her notebook and consulting a page of dimensions, “The ceiling is a little low in the living room part to pull that off, but we could take out part of the second floor, make a balcony to look down on the area, do two stories of windows, but Shireen was right, that would be so much glass to clean. We could do the same concept but with a rose window, this could work. Sandor!” 

She was off, looking for the man, seemingly forgetting Sansa completely. The redhead smiled to herself and trailed her wife through the house to find her sitting on the stack of stones that Sandor was working with. She was gesturing between the notebook in her hand and the back wall and the ceiling above them, her hands flying about her head. 

She caught the tail end of what Margaery was saying, “-do you think we could do that?” 

“You definitely have the structural support if we do a couple of columns right at the edge, and we could even recess the floor a couple of steps into the living room so it feels more intimate.” 

“I love that!” 

The man suddenly paused and looked up as if seeing the space for the first time in a whole new light, “Fuckin hell Marge!” 

“What?” 

“You’re going to make me build this fucking fireplace a whole second story so it extends the space up aren’t you?” 

“Well since you offered.” 

“Marge.” 

“It will look so good!” 

“You fuckin owe me.” 

“Do it for Sansa. You know she’s going to love the look.” 

“Don’t you try and use how I like your wife better than you to get yourself a massive fireplace.” 

“I’ll bake you a lasagne.”    
“Better be a fuckin good lasagne.” 

“You know it will be.” 

With that, Margaery bounced back over to where Sansa was leaning against the exposed frame of a wall, “You’re a genius, sweetling.” She pressed a kiss to the taller woman’s lips, and Sansa accepted it, just happy that for the moment she had averted the great tree swing viewing issue of two thousand and eighteen.

… 

In the final week before the house was complete, Margaery and Sansa were banned. For Sansa it was fine, she had work and it was nearly finals so she was busy with kids desperately trying to raise their grades before it was too late. Margaery was another story. She tried staying at home the first day, and was so antsy, by the time Sansa came home she had cleaned the apartment, reorganized their book shelves, and finished packing up the last of the things in the office that she had been procrastinating packing before the move. 

The second day she decided to go for a nice walk in downtown. That lasted for an hour and a half before she found the most charming coffee table that would go perfectly with the hardwood they had selected and she bought it and was driving down the street to the new house before she even knew what she was doing. 

Podrick came running out of the house when he saw her pull up and had to physically block her from going inside. Sandor stood on the front porch and enjoyed the show. Pod put up a valiant fight, but Margaery had grown up with three older brothers and she had the man in a headlock in less than two minutes. 

“Leave the poor boy alone, Marge. You’ll love the surprise.” 

She knew that he was right, but she was also deadly curious, “I just want to run in really quickly to make sure that the woods match.” 

“You wouldn’t have bought it unless you were sure.” 

From across the yard Margaery shot the man a glare, “Fine!” She released Podrick and gently smoothed down his hair, “You’re getting stronger.” She said with a sweet smile, looking up at him from beneath her lashes in a way she knew never failed to raise a blush on the man’s cheeks, “Have you been working out?” 

“Not really, Sandor’s been making me help out with the stones for the fireplace though.” 

“Yeah, it’s making a difference.” Margaery trailed her hands down and lightly squeezed the blushing man’s biceps, “Listen, this table is really special, and it has to go exactly as I’m about to explain-” 

Sandor shook his head as he listened to Margaery give excruciatingly detailed instructions to Podrick on where the table was supposed to be placed. 

… 

The week passed painfully slowly, but when Sunday finally rolled around, Margaery and Sansa stood holding hands in the street while Sandor and Tyrion rolled away the massive print outs of what the house looked like when they bought it. 

Sansa gasped, her free hand covering her mouth as tears sprung to the corners of her eyes, “Oh my goodness.” 

The house was a large craftsman, exposed stone on the exterior, a huge columned porch with a swing that Margaery didn’t know Sandor had decided to include, “Do you want to check out the inside?” Tyrion asked. 

Margaery nodded, leading the way, pulling Sansa along towards their dream home. Despite not having her professional staging, the house was beautiful. All wood floors, natural lighting, open concept that flowed from one room to the next. 

“Gods, Sandor the fireplace is amazing.” Sansa marveled, surprising the man with a strong hug right there in the living room. True to his word, it went up two stories and was completely hand done with such care, it was the centerpoint of the whole home. He awkwardly patted her on the back, trying to stay his gruff self while appreciating the compliment. 

The home was simple and cozy full of clean lines and handmade touches that truly made it theirs. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving right along! I loved writing all the dialogue in this chapter, hopefully it flows well and doesn't sound disjointed.

When they had been married for three years and moved into their house for around two, the topic of expanding their family came up again. Though this time by neither of their own volition. They were in Winterfell with the Starks visiting for a weekend, it was something of a party for the whole family to meet Robb and Jeyne’s baby. 

She was an adorable little girl with Robb’s red curls and Jeyne’s button nose, and once Margaery was handed the baby to hold, she wasn’t giving her back. After dinner the first evening everyone was sitting around the Stark’s living room catching up while Margaery cooed over the child, “You look perfect with her.” Jeyne commented, smiling at the younger woman. 

“When are you and Sansa going to have one of your own?” Catelyn asked with a sly sideways look at her daughter. 

“Soon.” Margaery answered at the same time as Sansa shot her mother a glare and grit out, “Later.” 

The two women locked eyes and both changed their answers, “Later.” Margaery agreed when Sansa said, “Soon.”    
The Starks laughed at the exchange, and the women let it go for the time being. Sansa brought it up later that night when they were squished together in her twin bed from childhood. Margaery was curled against her side, head on her chest when Sansa broached the topic with a single word. 

“Soon?” 

The brunette looked up with a guilty smile, “Later?” She shot back.

Sansa rolled her eyes, she should have expected no less from her wife, “You want to start a family?”

“I think we’re ready for it, we’ve got the space and we’re both established enough. You don't want to yet?”

“It's not that I don't want to, I guess I had always just thought it was further off.”

“We can wait.”

“I know.” Sansa combed her fingers through Margaery’s hair as she thought, “What if I want soon?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“No, but like really sure?” Margaery asked, pulling herself up to sit cross legged and really look at Sansa, “Because I don't want you to say you do just because I do.”

“I know, and while I hadn't been entirely sure before now thinking about you and me and a little kid of our own, it feels right.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Margaery smiled indulgently, swinging a leg over Sansa to straddle her, “In that case, let's make a baby.”

The redhead quirked up an eyebrow, “You know that's not how this works right?”

“We might as well try, just to be sure.”

Sansa laughed as Margaery whipped off her top, “It certainly can't hurt.”

… 

When they got back to Westeros Margaery set up an appointment for them at a clinic, and they started their journey. It was far less glamorous than one might expect, filled with careful tracking and fertility shots and appointment after appointment. Loras floated the idea of them doing a DIY job with a turkey baster but Sansa shot that idea down quicker than it was proposed. 

When it finally took, they were seven months into the process. Sansa came out of the bathroom with a wide smile and a stick clutched in her hand, “Marge.” 

The brunette was in the kitchen, stress baking cupcakes, “In here, sweetling.” She called back, sticking a toothpick in the cupcakes to see if they were done baking. 

Sansa didn’t say anything, opting instead to clear her throat and hold the stick up when her wife turned around, “Is that?” Margaery asked. 

“Yes.” 

“And it’s?” 

“Positive.” 

“So we’re?” 

“Oh yeah.” 

“Wow.” 

Margaery crossed the space to throw her arms around Sansa’s neck, “We’re going to have a baby.” 

“We are.” Sansa pulled her wife around in a little circle. 

… 

It was around the second trimester that things got real. Sansa’s baby bump began to protrude enough that she had to give up her slacks for pregnancy pants she absolutely despised. That coupled with the mood swings and the cravings and the bloating, the random tenderness, and general pregnancy irritability left the couple reeling and doing their damn best to keep it together.

Margaery was staging a home with Sandor and Tyrion’s help when Sansa arrived with takeout. She hasn't wanted to disturb her wife, and thought Sansa would enjoy the evening to herself, but the redhead hated alone time when she was pregnant so when Margaery had called to say she would likely be at the house for a couple hours yet Sansa had immediately offered to bring food for the troops. She began setting out the chinese containers.

“How was your day, sweetling?” Margaery asked from where she was trying to arrange the living room drapes to fall just right. 

“Good, we’re just starting Wuthering Heights, and I think this class of kids are actually going to enjoy it.” 

“That’s great.” Margaery went over, wrapping her wife in a gentle hug from behind, propping her chin on the redhead’s shoulder. 

“I was talking to Allana during lunch today.” 

“Yeah, how is she?” 

“She’s good.” Sansa said, stepping away from Margaery to call Sandor, Pod and Tyrion for a dinner break, “You need to stop telling people we did rock paper scissors to determine who would carry our child.” 

She laughed, “You’re just mad because you lost.” 

“Margaery.” Sansa said with a firm tone. 

The brunette batted her lashes innocently, “Yes sweetling?” 

Sandor arrived then, grabbing a paper plate and beginning to heap lo mein onto it, “So that’s not how you decided?” 

“You told them too?” 

“I like having a good explanation when people ask questions that have nothing to do with them!” Margaery defended. 

“You came in the day you started the whole fertility business and told us the rock paper scissors story completely unprompted.” Tyrion said, digging into the spring rolls.

“Not helping Tyrion.” The brunette glared. 

“No sweet and sour pork?” Podrick asked, poking through the containers.

“Sorry.” Sansa had a contrite expression, “The little one can't deal with the smell of pork.”

Pod smiled and patted the redhead’s elbow gently, “No worries, I’m so excited to meet him or her.”

“You and me both.”

Sandor made a fake retching noise at the soft exchange, “So if that’s a lie how did you decide?” 

Sansa’s soft expression melted into a smug grin, “My uterus is superior.” 

“Never mind, I don’t want to know.” Sandor waved his hand and leant against the counter. 

“Nobody said superior!” Leave it to Margaery to turn uteruses into a competition. 

“No, but I do recall the word hostile being thrown around.” 

“I would definitely classify Margaery as hostile.” Sandor smirked. 

“Not helping!” The brunette stole a crab ragoon from Sandor’s plate with a glare, “You don’t deserve this.” 

“At least I’m not hostile.” 

… 

In the third trimester, Margaery came into the Fixer Upper office with a grim expression, “In the order of naming children after relatives who has higher priority, the dead one or the old but still living one?”

“Whichever one is related to Sansa.” Tyrion answered.

Margaery gave him a look, “Okay, but also not that.” 

“Fine, then the dead one.” 

“No way, the old one.” Sandor disagreed, “The old one might die before you get around to the next kid. Plus you’ll have to hear about it until you have the next kid.”

Margaery chewed her lip, “What if one of them is Olenna?” 

“In that case, name it after your grandmother. Never cross that woman.” Tyrion changed his answer. 

“That’s what I thought.” 

“But?” 

“But the other person is Sansa’s late aunt.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.”    
Sandor smirked, “Rebel, don’t name your kid after either of them.”    
“Or you could do a middle name?” 

Margaery ran a hand through her hair, “Maybe I’ll just leave it to Sansa to decide.” 

“Oh yeah, she’s not doing enough work carrying the kid for nine months. May as well drop the naming job on her too.” Tyrion said sarcastically. 

“Well I’m definitely not naming it after you.” 

… 

That evening when Margaery got home, Sansa wasn’t there. Her car was in the driveway and her purse was on the table, but there was no trace of the redhead anywhere in the house. 

Margaery did her best to contain her panic as she searched the house top to bottom, double checking the backyard and only grew more worried when she couldn’t find Lady either. Maybe Sansa had taken the dog for a walk, but the leash was still in it’s spot by the door, that made no sense. 

Margaery tried to call her wife, but when she heard a phone ringing, she realized Sansa must have left her phone in her purse on the table. 

She called Arya instead, “Do you have any idea where Sansa is?” 

“You lost your heavily pregnant wife and you’re calling me to find her?” 

“I didn’t lose her!”    
“Where is she then?” 

“Not at home?” Margaery said, hating how she knew the younger Stark was going to tease her about this for the next century, “Her car is in the drive and her things are in the house but her and Lady are gone.”

“Maybe she took the dog for a walk?”

“But the leash is still here.” 

“Hmm.” Arya hummed in thought, “I dunno. Maybe she went to borrow some sugar from a neighbor?”

“You realize we live in the suburbs, not the nineteenth century, right?”

She could practically hear the younger girl roll her eyes through the phone, “I don't know! Go out in the street and yell her name, that's what Ma always did when one of us went missing.”

“Thanks for the help, Arya.” Margaery said, moving to end the conversation. 

“Anytime.”

“You're still coming over for dinner on Saturday?”

“Provided you find my sister by then.”

“Yeah, bye kid.” She hung up before Arya could tell her  _ again _ not to call her ‘kid’.

Margaery looked around the empty kitchen and considered her options. Deciding to give up any pride she may have once had she made her way out the front door and stood on the porch, “Gods I must have really lost it.” She muttered to herself, shooting a look up and down the street it was deserted as she had hoped. Channeling her inner Stark, and drawing upon Catelyn’s expertise, she stepped to the edge of the porch, cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Sansa!” 

No response, “This is crazy.” She shook her head at herself, “The neighbors are going to think I’m absolutely insane, that girl down the street isn’t going to babysit for us when the baby’s born because nobody’s going to want to work for the crazy women in the big house. Fuck.” 

She bit her lip, “Fuck it, might as well double down.” Margaery walked down to the sidewalk, took a breath and really put her lungs into it, “Sansa!!” 

A dog barked down the street and the door of their neighbor’s house opened. The woman there had moved in recently, and they had been meaning to go over with some welcome muffins or something, but then Sansa got pregnant and Margaery was busy and they still hadn’t properly introduced themselves. 

Instead of the severe blonde Margaery had caught sight of a few times, Sansa poked her head out the front door of the neighbor’s house, “Margaery?” 

“Sansa!” She exclaimed, much quieter than previously and started up to the door, “I can’t believe that worked.” 

“You sounded just like my mother.” 

The brunette winced, “Okay, I love your mom but never say that to me again. What are you doing over here?” 

It was then that she caught sight of their neighbor over Sansa’s shoulder, “Lady got out and Brienne found her. She left a note on our door so I came over to get Lady and thank her and I guess time just got away.” 

“Oh, thanks for grabbing our runaway.” Margaery smiled. 

The blonde woman nodded cordially, “Of course.”

They stood awkwardly for a moment, “Well, we had better get going.” Sansa turned to Brienne, “Thank you again so much for grabbing Lady, and for the tea, this was lovely.” 

“Yeah, just let me know if you ever need anything.” 

“It was great to finally meet you.” Margaery wrapped an arm around Sansa’s waist as the redhead exited the house. 

“Likewise.” 

“Lady, come.” Sansa called, the dog trotted happily out of the house and stood obediently at her side. 

Once they were back in their own home, Margaery’s smile fell, Sansa didn’t notice at first, “Brienne is just wonderful, she made this tea that just completely took away that nauseous feeling I’ve had since the first trimester.” 

“Yeah, let’s never go back over there again.” 

Sansa turned with a frown, “Why?” 

“It was so obvious she didn’t like me.” 

“No, she’s just a bit hard at first.” 

“She practically glared a hole into my forehead.”    
“Just because someone doesn’t smile doesn’t mean that they don’t like you.” Margaery huffed petulantly, and Sansa had a sudden image of what the next eighteen years were going to be like with their child, “Why don’t you bake some muffins or something and take them over? I’m sure the two of you will be great friends in no time.” 

The brunette thought it over and suddenly got the scary determined look in her eyes, “I’m going to be the best damn neighbor that woman-”

“Brienne.” Sansa interjected smoothly. 

“Brienne, has ever had. Whether she likes it or not.” 

“Okay maybe a little less threatening.” Sansa chuckled, stepping in and wrapping Margaery in a warm embrace, “All the other neighbors love you already.”

“Damn right they do, I have mastered the art of being the perfect neighbor.”   
“I know you have, darling.” 


	10. Chapter 10

The final couple of weeks of Sansa’s pregnancy were the most stressful for both women. School had just let out for summer- they had timed their try for the baby with the school schedule so Sansa could bank on this vacation time to make sure she had a lot of time at home with the baby- so she was passing time at home, and Margaery was still hard at work with Fixer Upper. 

She found herself checking her phone every few minutes, afraid that despite the ringer being on, she would miss a call from Sansa announcing that the baby was coming. 

When that call did come, she didn’t miss it. But she was clear on the other side of town working late at a house with Tyrion and Sandor, “Like now, now?” She asked in a high pitched voice when she picked up the phone to Sansa’s shouts of ‘the baby is coming now’.

“Okay, don’t panic. I’ll be right there, I’m at the house, don’t go anywhere.” 

“Oh yeah, I was just about to take a nice leisurely stroll in the park!” Sansa all but yelled. 

Margaery hardly registered the sarcasm, running circles around the house grabbing her bag, her keys, “Where’s my cell phone?” She asked, sprinting to the barebones living room where Sandor was putting up drywall and Tyrion was making asinine comments, “Have you two seen my cell phone? I just had it.” 

“You’re talking on it, Marge.” Sandor’s brows knit in concern, “The hell is wrong with you?” 

“The baby’s coming!” 

“Now?”    
“Now!” 

“Still here.” Sansa reminded her on the phone, “This is going to take too long for you to drive home and get me to bring me to the hospital. I’m calling Brienne. Just meet us there.” 

“No!” Margaery shouted, “She still hates me!” 

“Really Margaery? Really? ! I’m about to have our child, and you’re concerned about our neighbor!”

“Right. Okay, I’ll meet you there. Don’t forget the bags by the door, and your cellphone charger, and the toiletry bag in the-” Margaery cut herself off as she realized that Sansa had hung up, “Love you too.” 

“Let’s go crazy pants.” Sandor said, brushing off his hands. 

“You’re coming?” 

“Of course we are.” Tyrion answered, “I can hardly imagine what your road rage would look like if you tried driving yourself right now.” 

Margaery glared but didn’t protest the assessment.

… 

It took just over five hours, a lot of swearing, and Margaery was certain that the bones of her hand must be fractured at least if not broken, but very early the next morning Margaery was sitting in a hospital bed, looking down with complete adoration at her wife and newborn daughter. 

Tyrion, Sandor, Podrick, and Arya were the first visitors. The four made quite the rag tag group, and they poured into the room in a flurry of flowers and balloons and stuffed animals and Arya teased her sister about how she looked like hell and even Sandor completely melted at the sight of their little girl and everything was perfect. 

“Have you chosen a name then?” Podrick asked. 

“Lyanna.” Sansa answered, sharing a smile with her sister. They had been close with their aunt growing up, bonding over being girls in the masculine dominated Stark family, and when she died in a car accident when Sansa was in highschool and Arya middle school, they took the loss hard.

“She’s perfect.” Arya surreptitiously wiped at the corner of her eyes and shot Margaery a weak glare when the brunette smirked at her show of emotion. 

… 

And she was perfect. Up until four thirty on her fourth day of life when they had finally taken her home and Sansa and Margaery were dead asleep in bed and the baby monitor on the nightstand went off and Sansa groaned and turned over, burrowing her face in the pillow. 

“I got it.” Margaery mumbled, rolling out of bed. Literally, she was closer to the edge than she expected and she fell right out onto her ass. 

“You okay?” Sansa asked, not lifting her head.

“Good.” The brunette groaned, “All good.” 

She dragged her feet down the hall to the baby’s room, flicked on a lamp, and lifted out little Lyanna. She dropped down into the rocking chair and adjusted the squirming baby in her arms, setting to rocking her gently, “Hush, darling. What’s wrong? You ate less than an hour ago last time you woke me up, and your diaper is still fresh. What do you need?” 

The baby of course did not answer, choosing instead to try and escape Margaery’s hold, “Oh no you don’t.” She said, shifting to lay Lyanna against her chest with her little head under her chin. That seemed to help a little bit, and her loud wails subsided into smaller sobs, “There’s a girl.” 

Margaery stroked her daughter’s back, humming tunelessly. Eventually the cries tapered off completely and Margaery moved Lyanna back into the crook of her arm and regarded the sleeping baby. Her features were soft and delicate, her eyes were bright Tully blue matching Sansa’s and her mother’s, and her little tuft of hair was a light auburn curl that Margaery suspected would darken over time. 

She truly was beautiful. 

When she was confident that Lyanna was sound asleep, Margaery carefully placed the girl back in the crib. She flipped off the light and snuck as quietly as possible out of the room. When she fell back into bed, Sansa was dead asleep and didn’t even flinch when Margaery snuggled back up to her. 

When the baby monitor went off two hours later, Sansa was out of the bed before Margaery could even protest that she could handle it. 

… 

They had three and a half months over the summer where Sansa’s school was out and Fixer Upper was on a season hiatus where their days bled together, full of diaper changes and infrequent sleep schedules. 

Arya stepped in and was a god send, becoming Super Aunt and living on their couch for nearly a week when Sansa caught a cold and had to be quarantined away from Lyanna. One day she fully kicked the new mothers out, not for a dinner date- they weren’t quite ready for that- but for lunch. 

“Go, I've got everything here. Ly is sleeping, we’ll be fine for a couple of hours and if I need anything, Brisbane is right next door.”

“Okay, but she’s probably going to need to be fed when she wakes up. I pumped earlier its-”

“In the fridge heat up the bottle in the little warmer thing, test it on the inside of my wrist, burp her after, cradle the neck blah blah. I've heard it all before. Now out.” Arya commanded. 

Sansa looked highly reluctant, but eventually she relented, “Fine. Margaery, can you grab my cell phone?” She called to her wife who was over in their bedroom. 

“Got it, sweetling.” Margaery appeared, phone in hand, Leanna cradled in her arms. 

“Ready to go?” Arya asked. 

“Yes.” The brunette confirmed. 

“I'll just take Ly then.” The younger woman held out her arms. 

“Okay.” Margaery said, but made no move to hand over the baby. 

“Just pass me the kid.”

“Yup. Here you go.” Margaery sort of flinched like she was about to hold out Lyanna but thought better of it and ended up holding her closer. 

“Right here, Marge.” Arya had a little smirk. 

“Mhm.” The brunette hummed, bouncing Leanna a little in her arms but not getting any closer to giving her up. 

“Babe, you're not moving.” Sansa said gently. 

“Yeah, do we really have to leave Ly here? We can take her with us.”

“Margaery, give me Lyanna and go enjoy some time with your wife.” 

The brunette glared at Arya for another beat before finally caving in. She kissed the top of her daughter’s head and painfully slowly relinquished the girl to Arya, “If you need anything-”

“I won't hesitate to call.”

“Oh and the first aid kit is in the bathroom under the sink.”

“I know from when Sansa cut herself making fajitas that one time.”

“Come on, Margaery we can do this.” The redhead was honestly trying to convince herself as well as her wife as she forced them both to walk away and towards the door. 

“Say goodbye to your mommies!” Arya said in her baby voice, raising one of Lyanna’s hands to wave at the women, “We’re gonna have so much fun, I'm gonna get your ears pierced and get you baptized just to make your mommies mad aren't I?” She cooed. 

Sansa almost had Margaery out the door when she heard the bad joke and had to physically grab her wife around the middle to keep her from striding back in the house, “Arya Winifred Stark-”

“Not my middle name.”

“- you will do no such thing!”

“Real funny.” Sansa said, rolling her eyes at her sister while half dragging Margaery out the door, “Do try and behave. I don't know which of you is supposed to be in charge of the other.” With that she shut the door firmly and Arya could hear them lightly bickering the whole way down the drive. 

“Oh I'm definitely in charge.” Arya told the baby, “At least until you can talk, and then if you're anything like either of your mommies I’m sure you'll be bossing me around in no time at all.”

… 

By week four, Margaery and Sansa looked like the living dead. Things around the house were stilted and tired and grumpy and that was all just Margaery before she had morning coffee. Or rather afternoon, evening or midnight coffee. 

They had no need for alarm clocks anymore, not with baby Ly waking them up every three hours. Sansa was attending to their daughter’s latest cries when she yelled over to the bedroom, “Marge! We’ve only got a couple of diapers left.”

“I'll go grab some, do we need anything else from the store?”

“Can you get me a slushie? Oh and chunky peanut butter for Lady and diapers.” 

“You said diapers already, sweetling.” Margaery dragged her feet into the nursery, seeing her wife fighting with a fussy Lyanna. 

“Right.” 

“Slushie, diapers, and peanut butter. Got it.” 

Sansa frowned, “She’s not latching on.” 

“Did you try those tips the nurse gave us when we went in for her last check up?”

“No, here I was laying out a five point argument strategy and hoping to convince Ly to reconsider.” The redhead sasses. 

“Stupid question, got it.” Margaery pressed a kiss to Sansa’s cheek and patted the baby’s kicking foot before making to leave for the store, Sansa’s voice stopped her, “Don't forget pants.”

“We don't need to buy pants?” Margaery’s brows knit together. 

“You need to put on pants.” Sansa clarified. 

The brunette looked down and for the first time realized that while she had pulled on a sweatshirt and sneakers, she was still wearing just the underwear she sleep in, “Thanks, sweetling.”

“Love you.” Sansa called to her retreating wife.

“Love you too. I’ll be a second, I promise I’ll come back.”

“Why would you say that?” Sansa’s voice was more tired than angry or anything else.

“I don’t know.” Margaery stumbled into a pair of sweats and finally made it out the door. She couldn’t recall how she made it to the corner store, but somehow she was wandering down the aisles, a pack of diapers in her arms as she glared at the shelf in front of her, “What kind of peanut butter does Lady eat?” She muttered, “Was it even peanut butter? Maybe it was jerky strips. No, that’s Arya. Rawhide? No, why would that even be at a 7/11? Maybe I’ll just get both. If I get jam and bread too I can make a sandwich on the drive home.” 

In the end she made it to the register arms laden down with two jars of peanut butter, a large blue slushie, a handful of twinkies and a redbull. The spotty faced teenager looked at the assortment and back up at her, “Long night?” 

“New baby. Ran out of diapers and my slushie wants a wife.” 

The boy opened his mouth as if to correct her but thought better of it, “Are you supposed to be buying diapers?” 

“Yeah.” Margaery said as though it were obvious. She looked down at the supplies on the checkout counter, “Fuck.”She whispered, disappearing and grabbing the diapers from where she had left them next to the slurpee machine. When she put them down on the counter, it was with a harried expression, “I am not exaggerating when I say you might have single handedly saved my marriage.” 

On her drive home, Margaery blasted classic rock as loud as her car stereo would allow in a desperate attempt to stay awake. It worked and she pulled up outside the house, juggled everything in her arms and slumped her way up the drive. She tried doing her keys in the lock, but with everything she was carrying she just couldn’t manage to get them in.

With an annoyed groan Margaery knocked gently on the door. She had learned the hard way not to ring the bell when they were trying to get Lyanna to sleep, “Sansa!” She called through the door, dropping her head against the wood, “Sweetling, I can’t get my keys to work in the lock and I’ve got my hands full, can you let me in?” 

When there was no response, Margaery leant back and began knocking her head against the door, too tired to knock with her fist, “Sansa! I’m sorry about the comment about me coming home. Please open the door!” 

Finally, the wood door swung open, almost knocking over Margaery who was leaning against it. But it wasn’t Sansa standing on the other side, rather, “Brienne? What are you doing at my house?” 

“This isn’t your house.” 

Margaery stepped back and looked at the numbers above the door, taking in the smaller porch with no swing, the lack of rose bushes in the front yard, “Bloody hell.” 

“Let’s get you home, mommy brain.” Brienne relieved Margaery of a bag and led the way back down her path towards the house next door. 

“Gods, now you’re really going to hate me.” The brunette lamented out of the blue, “Normally I’m a fucking amazing neighbor, and I don’t knock on doors randomly in the middle of the night, and I bake really good banana muffins.” 

“I don’t hate you.” Brienne took the keys out of Margaery’s hands and unlocked the door for her, leading the way inside. 

“Did you get the slushie?” Sansa asked, coming down the hall to greet Margaery and popping up an eyebrow in question at seeing Brienne there too. 

“Your wife was trying to break into my house.” 

“I’m so tired, babe.” Margaery handed off the slushie, and disappeared down the hall, clearly going back to bed. 

“Thanks for bringing her over. You seem to have a knock for finding members of our family wandering around.” 

“Don’t worry about it. If you need any help, I have eight nieces and nephews so I’m used to child care.” Brienne offered.

Sansa smiled, “Thank you so much, I’m sure we’ll take you up on that.” 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, real life called and I had to take a bit of a break, but I'm back! Just some sweet family fluff

Towards the end of their ‘little break from reality’ as Margaery had taken to calling it, they took a week out to go and visit Winterfell. Catelyn insisted she see her granddaughter again before the two women got too busy with work to bring her up for a visit, and they were truly sold on the idea with the promise of a full week of childcare. 

They pulled up outside, unfastened the car seat, made their way to the front door where Sansa’s parents were already waiting, passed baby Lyanna- still strapped into her seat- and a baby bag to Ned and Catelyn, said a quick hello to the two before continuing straight upstairs to promptly pass out in Sansa’s childhood bed. That first day they slept straight through for about six hours until Margaery’s stomach woke her. 

She carefully disentangled herself from Sansa, doing her best not to wake her wife, and made her way down to the kitchen. She found Catelyn making a stew and humming idly. When she caught sight of Margaery in the doorway she smiled, “Looks like Mommy is up.”

The brunette chuckled, “One of us anyway. Sansa slept a bit on the drive up, but she was up most of the night with Ly I think she’ll sleep for a week if nobody wakes her.”

Catelyn chuckled, “I remember how it was when Robb was first born. One time Ned was so tired he fell asleep in the shower.”

“The other day tried to break into the neighbor’s house in the middle of the night because I thought it was ours.” Margaery confessed.

“Oh dear!” Catelyn ladled out some soup into two bowls and began slicing home baked bread. It was dark and hearty, a true northern loaf that Margaery had once tried to surprise Sansa with one of their first winters together when the redhead was under the weather. Somehow she had burned the crust and under baked the loaf, Sansa ate a valiant two pieces before Margaery tried it and declared the bread inedible. Catelyn’s loaf was perfect, “Well this week you two just focus on resting up so you're ready when you've got to go back to work.” She made up a little tray with the bowls of soup and some bread for the women, “Why don't you take this up to Sansa and see if she doesn't want a bit of dinner?”

“Thank you so much, Catelyn.”

“Don't even think on it. Lyanna is with Ned in the den if you want to peek in.”

Margaery nodded, slipping from the kitchen to find her father in law holding her daughter in the crook of his arm while he intently watched a hockey game. It would appear that from a young age, her girl was going to get a good northern hockey education. 

“Prick.” Ned muttered under his break, “Minnesota will never break top eight if they can’t get their defense sorted, you make my words, Ly.” He lectured to the sleeping baby, “Nevermind how aggressive their offense is, it doesn't matter worth a damn if they let every shot in.”

Margaery’s protective motherly instinct almost had her about to say something about the swearing, but she hadn't forgotten where she was. Hearing a couple of ‘damns’ from her grandfather was the most gentle of northern influences Margaery could hope that Lyanna would get. Since Minnesota was losing, Margaery made the executive decision not to step into the den and check up on the two in too much detail, she learned early on after her introduction to the Starks not to butt in when the home team was losing. Ned had raised six kids, surely he could handle a grand baby for a few more hours.

“I reckon Lyanna’s a shoe in for Olympic hockey one day.” Margaery joked when she returned to the kitchen to pick up the tray of food and bring it upstairs. 

Catelyn chuckled in understanding, “Never fails, it's like magic. You put on a hockey game and drop Ned in front of it with the kids and your guaranteed a couple hours of peace. Even when we had a full house, all the kids would sit in the den with him, none of the kids saying a word as they watched hockey together.”

“I wonder if that will still work with Sansa.” The brunette mused aloud. 

“It's worth a try.”

Margaery carefully balanced the tray of food up the stairs and slid it onto the dresser in Sansa’s room before joining her in bed. She cuddled up to her wife and greeted her with butterfly kisses all over her face, her forehead, cheeks, chin, eyelids, the tip of her nose, before her lips pulled into a smile and her eyes blinked open.

“Good morning, mommy.” Margaery greeted indulgently.

“Good morning to you too.” Sansa yawned, “What time is it?”

“Nearly six thirty in the evening. Your mother sent me up with some soup for dinner. She is a literal saint.” 

“How’s Ly?”

“Watching hockey in the den with your father.”

Sansa perked up at the mention of the sport, “Did you see the score?” 

“Minnesota’s losing, but I’m not sure by how much, sorry.” 

The redhead shrugged, “I’m sure if the gap was too big we would have heard about it by now.”

“Probably.” Margaery agreed, “Your parents seem to have everything under control down there, do you want to hide out up here for a little longer?” 

“Does it make me a bad mom for enjoying the break from our daughter?” 

“Of course not, sweetling.” Margaery soothed, pulling her wife into a close hug, “I know you love Lyanna unconditionally, you’re just exhausted. We both are, and it’s perfectly alright to enjoy a little time alone.” 

“I’m so conflicted, like I want to never let her go. But also I feel like I could sleep for a year.” 

“I know, me too.” 

“I suppose we can take the week off, right?”

“Yeah, like a last relaxing week before we have to become two working mothers.”  Margaery nodded, then got a sly smirk on her face, “Two working mothers who got the go ahead yesterday from your doctor to have sex.” 

Sansa barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. They had forgone sex the previous evening, wanting to be awake enough to make the long drive up to Winterfell, and she had dearly missed being intimate with her wife, but all the same she was going to make Margaery work for it. 

“My parents are right downstairs.” 

“That hardly seemed to matter to you last time we visited.” 

Sansa bit her lip, recalling their last visit before baby Ly. The fact that they may be overheard was certainly at the bottom of her list of concern, “Did you bring the lube that Doctor Berry gave us?” 

“I’m offended you even need to ask.” Margaery chuckled. 

… 

“What about Robb and Jeyne?” Margaery suggested. 

“Okay so I love them and they do already have kids, but one time I saw little Emily eating playdough and Jeyne noticed and didn’t stop her right away.” 

Margaery laughed, “Sansa-” 

“Like she did stop her, but the kid had eaten half the purple at that point.” 

“Alright, they’re out. Jon and Ygritte?” 

“Absolutely not. Jon one time convinced Rickon that if he went outside in the snow in just his underwear for an hour, he would never feel cold again. Rickon almost lost a toe to frostbite.” 

“What about my brothers? Loras and Renly could be good.” 

Sansa thought it over, lips tucking up to the side, “The last time we asked them to watch Lady she got out and also chewed the leg of their sofa down.” 

“It wasn’t that bad.” 

“The couch still rocks, she took a solid few inches off.” 

Margaery shot a look across the living room at the dog who was laying docile on her bed, watching them with a look of perfect innocence as if she knew they were talking about her bad behavior, “Fine.” Margaery crossed another set of names off the list, “Do you have any suggestions?” 

“Garlan and Leonette?” 

“She coddles their boys.” Margaery said with clear distaste, “Don’t get me wrong, I love my nephews, but I’m pretty sure she’s considering homeschooling them for middle school and homeschool kids are weird.” 

Sansa let out a long suffering sigh and flopped back against the couch, “What if we don’t do a godparent? It’s kind of an outdated concept, and what are the odds that both of us actually are taken out of the picture?” 

“We can’t just not!” Margaery looked scandalized. 

“Of course, awful suggestion.” Sansa nodded, knowing from the look in her wife’s eyes to change the topic as quickly as possible, “If we can’t do siblings what about parents?” 

“We were basically brought up by Gran, and we can’t bank on her being around long enough.” Margaery said, trying to stay practical to avoid the little pang she felt at considering her grandmother’s mortality, “We could do your parents.” 

“You’re hesitating.” 

“Am not!” 

“Are too.” 

Margaery glared, but relented quickly, “Okay, I am.”    
“Why?”    
“Look I know they raised you and your siblings, and you all turned out wonderfully. But I wonder, aren’t they sort of done? Just you know they’d be nearly eighty when Ly graduates high school. I don’t want to burden them like that when they should be focused on retiring. Plus when we have more kids that’ll just be even older for them.” 

Sansa’s expression melted into one of endearment as her lips curled up in a wide grin, “When we have more kids?” 

“Oh yeah, only kids are even weirder than homeschool kids. We need to have at least one more in the next three years so there’s not too big of an age gap.” Margaery was very straightforward with her analysis, but even so she had a teasing glint in her eyes, “So parents are out.”

Margaery smiled in Sansa’s apparent acceptance of her assertion that they would be growing their family soon, “We’ve got to be able to find someone.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who will the godparent/s be? Lmk your best guess ;)


End file.
